Conscience 


HE?^DRlCIi 
CONSCIENCE 


BERKEIIV 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  Of 
CALIFORNIA 


TALES 

BY 

HENDRICK  CONSCIENCE 

p.  J.  KENEDY  &  SONS 

44  BARCLAY  8TREBT.  NEW  YORK 

TTLu-W 

)  ^00 


ONTENTS. 


PAGK 

Authoe's  Address  to  his  Friends,         .        •  3 

The  Recruit, 7 

Mine  Host  Gtansendonck,        .       •        •        .  101 

Blind  Rosa,        .......  215 

The  Poor  Nobleman,        •       •       •       •        •  247 


L,    054 


THE  AUTHOB  TO  HIS  FBIEND8. 


Aktwebp,  No9.  16, 1840. 

Respected  Readers, — To  you,  my  good  friends,  who  haTe 
remained  true  to  the  story-teller,  however  much  his  name  and 
office  have  been  abused,  I  bring  good  news  to-day. 

I  have  been  ill.  My  spirit  was  weary,  my  soul  disenchanted, 
my  body  sick.  I,  endowed  by  God — if  with  nothing  else,  at 
least  with  energy,  life,  and  universal  love — sank  into  the 
deepest  dejection,  and  became  alarmed  as  I  felt  a  deadly 
poison — it  might  have  been  misanthropy — taking  possession 
of  my  soul. 

Have  I  not  seen,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  in  these  in- 
comprehensible times,  every  selfish  passion  rage — ^nakedl 
shameless?  Gross  injustice  and  crime  legalized  by  the 
struggle  for  existence,  as  murder  is  legalized  by  war  ?  And 
the  holiest  thing  of  all — the  elevation  of  Flanders — the  aspi- 
ration of  my  youth,  the  endeavour  of  my  manlier  years — but 
let  us  not  speak  of  that ;  I  have  a  wound  in  my  heart  which 
might  begin  to  bleed  afresh.  Let  us  talk  of  sweeter  memo- 
ries. 

Three  months  I  lived  upon  the  heath — ^you  know  it  well- 
that  beautiful  spot  where  the  soul  returns  into  itself  and  ib  at 


4  THE  AUTHOB  TO  HIS  FRIEKDI. 

fert ;  where  everything  sings  of  peace  and  calm ;  where  tie 
spirit,  face  to  face  with  the  primeval  creation  of  Gbd,  throws 
off  the  wearisome  veil  of  conventionality,  forgets  mankind, 
and  with  renewed  youth  frees  itself  from  all  restraint ;  where 
every  thought  forms  itself  to  a  prayer;  where  everything 
disappears  from  the  heart  which  is  not  in  unison  with  freeh, 
free  nature. 

Oh  !  yonder,  yonder  is  peace  for  the  weary  spirit — yonder 
the  strength  of  youth  is  still  in  store  for  the  toilwom  man. 

And  so  passed  the  days  of  my  illness — days  of  inexpressible 
joy  for  my  soul.  To  go  to  meet  the  sun  with  a  smile,  when 
in  ftill  majesty  it  pours  its  first  rays  over  the  horizon  ;  to  wait 
upon  nature  at  her  awaking,  when  the  first  tones  of  her  great 
song  of  praise  ascend  to  heaven ;  to  wander  over  heath  and 
through  hush,  questioning  my  own  soul,  and  reflecting — look- 
ing into  the  life  of  plants  and  animals,  and  wondering ;  inhal- 
ing the  pure  air  in  full  draughts ;  now  standing,  now  moving 
on,  retracing  my  steps  and  speaking  aloud  in  my  solitude ; 
dreaming  of  things  inconceivably  beautiful— of  God,  of  the 
future,  of  Flanders,  of  peace,  and  of  love. 

And  in  the  evening,  to  sit  in  the  old  inn,  under  the  broad 
projection  of  the  fireplace,  my  feet  in  the  ashes,  and  my  eyes 
towards  the  star  which  blinks  down  upon  me  from  above 
through  the  opening  of  the  chimney,  as  if  it  had  a  message 
for  me ;  or,  with  wandering  thoughts,  to  look  into  the  fire, 
and  watch  how  the  flames  take  shape,  rise,  pant,  crackle,  and 
blow,  and  press  against  one  another  as  if  in  rivalry  to  lick 
the  kettle  with  their  fiery  tongues;  and  to  think,  t?iat  is 
human  life, — to  be  bom,  to  labour,  to  love,  to  hate,  to  grow 
to  maturity,  and  to  perish.  The  smoke  flies  upward  out 
of  the  chimney,  and  nothing  more  comes  of  all  this  pant- 
ing and  crackling. 

And  then  again,  to  awake  out  of  my  dream,  and  listen  to 


THE  AUTHOR  TO  HIS  FRIENDS. 

the  villagers'  talk.  To  see  in  motion  around  me  a  little  nai»- 
row  world,  with  its  unconcealed  weaknesses  and  passions ;  to 
read  into  the  heart  of  man,  and  follow  out  his  instincts  laid 
bare  in  their  workings ;  and  to  revel  in  this  simple  country 
life  which  uncomipted  nature  painted  with  so  fresh  a  colour- 
ing. 

Meanwhile,  to  remember  to  collect  a  store  of  things  which 
everybody  there  knew  how  to  relate,  that  on  my  return  home 
I  might  be  able  to  oflfer  my  friends  some  presents  from  the 
Kempenland. 

Here  am  I  now,  p  nts  and  all, — modest  wreaths,  dreamily 
woven  by  my  own  hand,  of  heath  and  corn-flower. 

Some  among  you,  honoured  readers,  may  not  be  pleased 
with  these  quiet,  peaceful  Tales.  Simple  as  the  soil  from 
which  they  grew,  they  are  diametrically  opposed  to  the  reign- 
ing fashion ;  they  are  no  medley  of  blood,  thieves'  slang,  dis- 
honour, connubial  infidelity,  barefaced  debauchery,  mocking 
unbelief,  or  destructive  and  morbid  despondency :  they  do  not 
make  the  reader  anxious  about  his  own  virtue,  or  the  future 
of  humanity.  No,  no ;  the  demon  of  Despair  and  Hate  finds 
here  no  place.  Nature  in  her  unspotted  freshness  has  woven 
these  tales  out  of  humble  material,  here  and  there  lighted  up 
by  a  pure  pearl  of  a  human  heart.  To  enjoy  them,  one  must 
still  have  some  poetry  in  one's  soul ;  for  they  are  addressed 
only  to  the  finest  chords  of  the  heart,  the  tender  sources  of 
life-enjoyment — love  to  God  and  our  fellow-man,  which  alas  ! 
too  soon  grow  weak,  and  wear  out  by  contact  with  grasping 
selfishness. 

Accordingly,  readers,  if  I  here  promise  to  tell  you  storiei 
which  I  have  heard  narrated  in  the  old  inn,  or  picked  up 
in  my  wanderings  over  the  heath,  expect  nothing  but  * 
fidthful  description  of  the  peaceful  manners  of  the  dwellers 
tkert ;  and  be  in  ^.ulgent  with  me  when  I  attempt  to  write 


V  THB  AUTHOB  TO  HZB  FBIKIIM. 

ft  whole  book  for  your  amnBement  out  of  Buoh  slender  m** 
teriaL 

To  you,  my  Flemish  friends,  do  I  dedicate,  in  this  tale  of 
The  Becbuit,  the  first  blossom  of  the  wreath.  May  your 
friendly  reception  of  it  be  my  reward,  and  encourage  m*  to 
folfil  my  whole  promise  in  the  course  of  iim«  t 


THE    RECRUIT 


CHAPTBB  L 


The  earliest  snn  of  spring  beamed  witt  fiill  splendorir  ia 
the  bine  heavens,  as  if  it  were  the  exalted  countenance  of  the 
Deity  looking  down  beneficently,  and  calling  out  to  creation, 
"Up  I  up  I  the  winter  is  past,  live  and  rejoice  before  me  I" 
The  young  light  diffused  itself  over  heath  and  field,  and  the 
moist  earth  smoked  with  its  genial  warmth. 

A  few  plants  had  already  heard  the  call  of  the  world-friend ; 
the  little  snow-drops  shook  their  silver  starlets  on  the  borders, 
the  hazel-bushes  unfolded  their  catkins,  the  wood-anemone 
put  forth  its  first  leaves  among  the  underwood;  while  the 
"birds  hopped  joyously  in  the  warm  light,  and  sang  in  cleat 
notes  of  the  approaching  time  of  love. 

Not  far  frora  Zoerselbosch  stood  two  mud  cottages,  solitary 
and  forgotten.  In  the  first  dwelt  a  poor  widow  with  her 
daughter ;  all  she  possessed  was  a  cow.  The  other  was  also 
mhabited  by  a  widow,  with  her  aged  father  and  two  sons,  one 
of  whom  had  just  attained  the  years  of  manhood.     Tbey  wen 


I  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE* 

wealthier  than  their  neighbours,  for  they  possessed  an  ox  ag 
well  as  a  cow,  and  rented  far  more  land. 

Spite  of  this,  the  inhabitants  of  both  huts — for  their  dwell- 
ings were  little  better — had  for  many  years  formed  only  one 
family,  loving  and  helping  one  another.  John  and  his  ox 
worked  on  the  poor  widow's  field,  while  Trien  fetch'^d  fodaer 
for  the  ox,  herded  for  her  neighbours,  and  helped  them  at 
harvest-time ;  and  neither  ever  thought  of  reckoning  which 
had  done  most  for  the  other. 

Simple-minded,  and  knowing  nothing  of  all  that  befel  in 
the  stirring  muxen  of  human  life  beyond  their  native  parish, 
they  lived  contented  with  the  bit  of  black  bread  whici  the 
Almighty  had  granted  tnem.  Their  world  was  very  limited  ; 
on  one  side  of  the  hamlet  a  humble  little  church,  on  the  other, 
the  immeasurable  heath,  and  the  unbounded  sky. 

And  yet  dwelt  laughter  and  song  around  this  lonely  habit- 
ation ;  joy  and  merriment  were  there  in  full  measure,  and  not 
one  of  these  poor  people  would  have  exchanged  their  lot  for 
one  apparently  far  better. 

It  was  love  which,  with  its  magic  power,  had  breathed 
life  into  solitude.  John  and  Trien,  though  they  knew  it  not, 
loved  each  other  with  that  unexpressed  and  shy  feeling  which 
makes  the  heart  beat  quick  on  the  slightest  occasion,  and  the 
brow  redden  at  the  most  trifling  word  ;  which  changes  life  into 
a  long  dream — a  blue  heaven  sparkling  with  stars  of  happi- 
ness— an  immeasurable  deep,  as  if  the  human  heart  must  ever 
remain  that  which  the  first  sigh  of  love — the  pure  and  holy 
incense  of  the  soul — ^has  made  it. 

Poor  people  1  they  thought  not  of  the  vast  masses  swarm- 
ing in  the  distant  cities ;  and,  as  they  desired  nothing  from 
them,  they  imagined  that  they  likewise  would  be  forgotten, 
and,  full  of  confidence,  lived  on  in  their  sweet  and  beaatifal 
poTortj. 


THE  RECRUIT.  f 

Bat  Biiddenly  came  one  and  demanded  blood-tax  from  these 
poor  mud-huts.  The  only  young  man  who  dwelt  there — the 
only  one  who  had  the  strength  to  make  the  ungrateful  soil  fruit- 
ful by  the  sweat  of  his  brow — was  to  draw  lots  and  become 
a  soldier,  if  his  trembling  hand  should  draw  an  unlucky  num- 
ber ;  bid  a  long  it  might  be  an  eternal  farewell  to  his  mother, 
his  friends,  and  his  native  heath  ;  and  pine,  perchance  die,  of 
the  wounds  which  the  wild  and  dissolute  soldier -life  would  in- 
flict on  his  yet  pure  and  peaceful  soul. 

The  sad  March  day  in  '33,  which  Trien  had  marked 
with  a  black  cross,  arrived.  The  young  man  had  gone  out 
of  the  village  to  Brechts,  with  about  ten  companions,  to  draw 
lots. 

Within  the  huts,  both  mothers  and  the  little  boy  were  kneel- 
ing in  prayer.  The  old  grandfather  tottered  silently  up  and 
down  for  a  time,  and  at  last  remained  standing  before  the  door 
leaning  on  a  vine-stem,  with  his  head  bent  down,  as  if  he 
were  looking  into  a  grave.  The  maiden  stood  in  the  stable, 
gazing  long  and  wistfully  into  the  eyes  of  John's  cow,  and 
gently  stroking  its  head,  as  if  consoling  it  under  the  approach- 
ing misfortune. 

A  gloomy  silence  brooded  over  both  houses,  unbroken  save 
by  the  occasional  lowing  of  the  ox.  Trien  soon  approached  the 
grandfather,  silently,  but  with  a  beseeching  and  inquiring  look. 
The  old  man  awoke  out  of  his  painful  reverie,  and  seizing  his 
heavy  staff,  said — 

"  Do  not  lose  courage,  Trien  ;  God  will  aid  us  in  this  dread- 
ful extremity.  Come,  the  time  is  up,  let  us  go  and  meet  the 
poor  recruits." 

Trien  followed  the  grandfather  over  a  footpath  which  ran 
past  the  house  and  led  to  the  village.  Though  driven  on  by  a 
burning  impatience,  her  steps  were  slow  and  heavy.  The  old 
turned  round,  and,  when  he  saw  her  sunken  head  and 


iO  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

pallid  countenance,  he  took  her  hand  sympathizingly,  and 
Raid — 

"  Poor  child  I  how  dearly  yon  must  love  our  John.  He  Is 
not  your  brother,  and  yet  you  are  more  alarmed  than  we. 
Keep  up  your  spirits,  Trien,  dear ;  you  do  not  yet  know  what 
God  has  determined." 

"  I  am  so  terrified  I "  she  sighed,  visibly  trembling,  and 
looking  through  the  wood  in  the  direction  of  the  town. 

"  Terrified  I "  repeated  the  old  man,  while  he  exertecl  hii 
eyes  to  discover  the  cause  of  her  terror. 

"  Tes,  yes,"  said  Trien,  covering  her  eyes  with  her  apron, 
"  it  is  all  over,  and  we  are  unfortunate — the  lot  ha«  fallen  on 
him  I" 

"  But  how  can  you  know  Ihat  i  You  make  me  tremble  too," 
•aid  the  old  man  anxiously. 

Trien  pointed  wHh  her  finger  beyond  the  trees,  and  replied, 
"  There,  behind  the  wood — ^listen  I" 

"I  hear  nothing.  Come,  let  us  make  haste;  it  must  be 
the  recruits — so  much  the  better." 

"  0  God  1"  cried  the  maiden,  "  I  hear  a  sound — so  sad  and 
pitiful,  it  sounds  in  my  ears  like  a  deep  and  heavy  sigh." 

Perplexed  and  anxious,  the  old  man  looked  at  the  girl  for 
a  time,  while  she  seemed  to  listen  to  a  distant  sound.  He 
also  listened  attentively  in  order  to  catch  the  noise  as  it  came 
over  the  quiet  heath.  A  friendly  smile  lighted  up  his  coun- 
tenance as  he  said — 

"  Foolish  little  thing  1  it  is  the  wind  sweeping  through  the 
fcr-wood." 

"  No,  no  1 "  she  replied ;  "  further,  further,  behind  the 
wood.     Do  you  not  hear  a  wailing  sound  ?  " 

After  some  moments'  attention,  the  old  man  rejoined — 

"  Now  I  understand  what  you  mean  ;  it  is  Farmer  Claei'f 
dog  which  IB  howling  over  some  one  dead.     The  farmer'! 


THE  RECRtJrr.  11 

wife,  who  had  consumption,  mnst  have  died  last  night.  May 
God  receive  her  soul  I " 

The  girl,  whose  mental  tension  and  excitement  had  made 
her  regard  the  howling  as  foreboding  some  calamity,  acknow- 
ledged her  error,  and,  quickening  her  pace,  hastened  after  the 
old  man,  in  silence  and  in  tears.     At  last  he  said — 

"  K  r/ou  are  so  inconsolable,  Trien,  what  shall  his  mothe/ 
and  I,  his  grandfather,  say  ?  With  hard  toil  have  we  brought 
him  up,  and  loved  him  as  the  apple  of  our  eyes.  Now  we  are 
old  and  feeble,  and  he  in  his  turn  should  work  for  us.  And  ah  I 
if  God  has  not  sent  his  good  angel  to  direct  his  hand,  then 
must  he  be  a  soldier,  and  leave  us  in  our  necessity." 

These  words  made  Trien's  tears  break  out  afresh,  and  with 
an  attempt  at  consolation  she  replied — 

"  That  matters  little,  father — I  have  strong  arms ;  and  as 
yon  are  no  longer  able,  I  myself  will  go  behind  the  oxen,  and 
do  all  the  heavy  work.  But  he — but  John,  poor  fellow  I  To 
hear  nothing  but  cursing  and  swearing,  to  be  beaten  and  im- 
prisoned, and  pine  away  from  sheer  vexation  of  mind,  like  the 
unfortunate  Pauw  Stuyck,  who  was  tortured  to  death  in  four 
months ;  and  never  to  see  one  of  all  those  who  loved  him 
on  earth,  neither  you  nor  his  mother,  nor  his  little  brother, 
nor — any  one,  save  wicked  and  dissolute  soldiers  1 " 

"  Oh  1  do  not  speak  lo,  Trien,"  said  the  old  man  with  a 
choking  voice,  "  your  words  make  me  sad.  Why  lament  so 
bitterly  ?  You  grieve  and  tremble  as  if  there  were  no  doubt 
of  hifl  being  unfortunate,  while  I,  on  the  contrary,  have  a  feel- 
ing that  he  will  draw  a  lucky  number ;  I  have  confidence  in 
the  goodness  of  God." 

Insensibly  the  maiden  smiled  through  her  tears,  but  so  full 
was  her  mind  of  sad  forebodings,  that  she  could  not  speak. 
Both  walked  on  in  silence  cill  they  reached  the  village. 
Here,  OP  the  road  which  led  to  Brechts,  were  assembled  a 


15  TXLEB  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

great  nnmber  of  people,  clustered  in  little  knotk  all  foil  of 
impatience  to  leam  the  result  of  the  lot-dvawing.  ft  wai 
easy  to  distinguish  those  whose  sod,  brother,  or  lover  had 
gone  to  Brechts.  Here  and  there  one  might  see  a  mother 
with  her  apron  to  her  eyes;  a  father,  who  endeavoured  in 
vain  to  conceal  the  anxiety  too  visibly  imprinted  on  his  coun- 
tenance ;  a  maiden,  with  pale  face  and  bashful  look,  going 
from  one  knot  to  another,  as  if  haunted  by  some  secret  fear. 

Many  others  had  collected  there  out  of  mere  curiosity,  and 
spoke  and  jested  with  a  loud  voice.  The  old  smith,  who  in 
former  times  had  been  one  of  Napoleon's  dragoons,  was  loud 
in  his  praise  of  a  soldier's  life,  and  was  seconded  by  the 
miller's  drunken  son,  who,  after  serving  eleven  months, 
had  returned  to  waste  his  paternal  property  in  riot  and  de- 
bauchery. The  smith  did  it  with  a  good  intention,  for  he 
wished  by  his  fine  description  to  console  his  anxious  friends, 
and  kept  always  repeating — 

"  Every  day  soup  and  meat,  plenty  of  money,  good  beer, 
pretty  girls,  dancing,  leaping,  and  fighting.  There 's  a  life 
for  yon  1  yon  have  no  notion  what  a  jolly  life  it  is." 

But  his  words  had  quite  a  contrary  effect,  for  they  made 
the  tears  of  the  mothers  flow  faster,  and  gave  fresh  cause  of 
grief  to  many  hearts. 

Trien  could  restrain  herself  no  longer ;  in  this  jesting  speech 
there  was  one  word  especially  which  had  wounded  her  deeply. 
"With  an  angry  and  threatening  mien  she  went  up  to  the 
jester,  and  said — 

"Shame  on  you,  abandoned  man!  Is  it  necjessary  that 
they  should  all  be  drunkards  like  you,  forsooth,  or  dissolute 
fellows  like  that  loose  vagabond  there,  who  has  learned  no- 
thing else  among  soldiers  but  to  lead  a  bad  life,  and  bring  hii 
parents  with  sorrow  to  the  grave?" 

The  miller's  son  went  passionately  up  to  the  bold  girl,,  Md 


THE  KICRUIT.  18 

would  have  attacked  her  rndelj,  had  not  BOine  one  just  at  tliat 
moment  exclaimed — 

"  There  they  are  I  there  they  are  I " 

In  the  distance,  the  recruits  might  be  seen  emergiug  out  of 
a  wood  upon  the  highway,  shouting  and  singing  as  they  ap- 
proached. Some  were  joyfully  throwing  their  hats  and  caps 
high  into  the  air,  and  all  together  had  the  appearance  of  a 
troop  of  drunkards  returning  from  a  feast.  But  it  was  impos- 
sible to  see  which  of  them  were  merry  and  sang,  and  which 
were  sad  and  silent. 

As  soon  as  the  recruits  had  gained  the  highway,  their 
relations  and  friends  hastened  from  all  sides  to  meet  them. 
The  old  grandfather  could  not  go  so  quickly  as  the  others, 
though  Trien  now  led  him  by  the  hand,  and  dragged  him  on. 
At  last  the  maiden  could  restrain  her  impatience  no  longer 
when  she  saw  mothers  and  young  women  embracing  some 
young  peasants  with  loud  rejoicing,  and,  letting  go  the  old 
man's  hand,  she  ran  forward  as  fast  as  she  could.  Suddenly 
she  halted  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  as  if  deprived  of  motion 
by  some  unknown  power ;  then  tottering  to  the  roadside,  she 
leant  her  head  on  a  tree  and  wept  bitterly. 

The  old  man  overtook  her  and  asked,  "  Is  John  not  among 
them,  that  you  remain  standing  there,  Trien?" 

"  0  God,  it  will  be  my  death  I"  she  cried.  "  See  yonder, 
father,  he  comes  behind  the  others,  with  sunken  head  and 
pale  face.     He  is  half  dead  already,  poor,  poor  fellow  I " 

"Perhaps  it  is  from  excess  of  joy,  Trien?" 

**  How  fortunate  you  are,"  she  cried,  "  in  not  seeing  more 
clearly  1" 

Meanwhile  John  approachsd  the  place  where  his  grand- 
father stood,  and  went  slowly  up  to  him. 

Trien  did  not  go  to  meet  him,  biL  buried  her  ^^^  in  hef 
hands,  and  sobbed  audibly. 


14  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

The  youth  seized  the  old  man's  hand,  and  showing  him  a 
number,  said  with  a  choking  voice — 

"  Father,  the  lot  has  fallen  upon  me." 

Then  turning  to  the  maiden,  he  sighed,  and  a  flood  of 
tears  gushed  from  his  eyes. 

"  Trien  I  Trien  ! "  was  all  he  could  utter. 

The  old  man  was  too  much  overpowered  to  be  able  either 
to  speak  or  think  ;  the  tears  rolled  slowly  down  the  furrows 
of  his  face,  while  he  stood  silent  and  stupified,  with  his  eyei 
fixed  on  the  ground. 

For  a  time  the  deepest  silence  reigned,  till  John  exclaimed 
with  a  despairing  voice — 

"  Oh,  my  poor  mother  I  my  poor  mother  I " 

Scarcely  were  these  words  uttered  than  a  wonderful  change 
teemed  to  take  place  in  the  maiden.  She  was  a  noble  and 
courageous  girl.  While  there  was  uncertainty,  she  had  given 
free  vent  to  her  tears ;  but  with  the  certainty  of  misfortune, 
her  heart  found  the  needful  energy,  and  now,  when  an  elevat- 
ing sense  of  duty  awoke  her  out  of  her  grief,  a  strength  which 
was  peculiar  to  her  beautiful  character  returned  to  her  soul. 
She  raised  her  head,  and  drying  her  tears,  spoke  calmly  and 
collectedly. 

"  John,  my  friend,  God  has  so  willed  it,  and  who  can  strive 
against  Him  ?  You  have  still  a  year  with  us ;  perhaps  some 
way  may  cast  up.  Let  me  go,  /  will  tell  your  mother ;  if 
another  should  tell  her  the  dreadful  news,  it  might  be  her 
death." 

With  these  wonis,  she  hastened  into  the  fir-wood  and  dii- 
appeared.  The  old  man  and  the  unfortunate  youth  kept  the 
usual  path  to  the  village.  They  heard  songs,  and  shouts, 
and  hurrahs,  but  were  too  deeply  sunk  in  grief  to  heed 
them. 

As  they  approached  their  poor  dwelling,  Tri^i^ 


THE  RECRUIT.  1$ 

by  both  the  women  and  the  little  brother,  came  ont  to  meet 
them  weeping. 

The  young  man  gave  Trien  a  look  of  the  deepest  gratitude, 
for  he  could  well  perceive  from  the  countenance  of  his  mother 
that  the  noble  girl  had  roused  in  the  heart  of  the  sorrowing 
widow  a  feeling  of  hope.  He  was  encouraged  when  he  saw 
this,  and,  repressing  his  grief,  he  hastened  towards  her  with 
open  arms. 

At  first  there  was  violent  emotion,  deep  sorrow,  and  many 
tears ;  but  despau*  yielded  tc  calmer  feelings,  and  by  degreei 
peace  retomei  into  the  widows'  hnti. 


1%  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LItm. 


CHAPTER  11. 

The  Kduf  of  departure  is  come.  Yonder,  before  the  hTJti^ 
itands  a  fine  young  man — his  staff  on  his  shoulder,  and  a 
bundle  on  his  back.  His  eyes,  once  so  quick  and  lively,  now 
move  slowly  and  heavily,  his  face  is  calm,  and  everything 
seems  to  indicate  in  him  a  tranquil  and  collected  mind;  but 
hiB  heart  beats  quick,  and  his  breast  heaves  with  repressed 
emotion. 

His  mother  holds  one  of  hv  hands  in  hers,  and  overwhelms 
him  with  the  tenderest  expreiwrions  of  love  ;  tne  poor  woman 
sheds  no  tear,  and  her  lips  tremble  under  the  restraint  which 
she  puts  on  herself  to  conceal  her  grief.  She  smiles  on  her 
son  to  console  him ;  but  this  forced  and  melancholy  smile  is 
sadder  than  the  bitterest  lamentation. 

The  other  widow  is  endeavouring  to  console  the  little  boy, 
and  make  him  believe  that  John  will  soon  come  back  again ; 
Dut  the  melancholy  feelings  with  which,  during  the  past  year, 
his  parents  had  looked  forward  to  this  day,  had  taught  him  to 
regard  the  departure  as  a  dreadful  calamity — and  nothing 
could  comfort  him. 

The  grandfather  and  Trien  are  within  doors,  making  the 
last  preparations  for  the  journey ;  they  have  cut  a  great  hole 
in  a  loaf  of  bread  and  filled  it  with  butter ;  carrying  this  with 
them^  they  go  out  and  stand  beside  the  young  man. 

The  stable  is  open,  the  ox  turns  its  head  and  looks  with  a 


THB  BECRITIT.  17 

sad  expression  towards  its  master,  nttering  at  intervals  a  low 

and  melancholy  sound.  One  might  have  supposed  that  the 
beast  knew  what  was  going  on. 

All  is  ready,  and  he  is  about  to  depart.  Already  he  hhS 
firmly  pressed  his  mother's  hand,  and  advanced  a  step ;  but 
he  pauses  a  moment  longer  to  cast  a  last  look  of  affection 
around  him — on  the  humble  cot  where  his  cradle  stood — the 
heath,  and  the  wood  where  he  had  wandered  when  a  child — 
and  on  the  barren  fields,  which,  as  a  young  man,  he  had  so  often 
made  fruitful  by  his  labour.  Then  by  turns  his  glance  falls 
on  all  the  objects  which  he  loved,  even  on  the  ox,  his  trusty 
friend  during  many  a  hard  day's  toil ;  he  covers  his  face  with 
his  hand,  to  conceal  the  tears  which  roll  over  his  cheeks,  and 
sighs  inaudibly,  "  Farewell  I " 

Now  he  raises  his  head,  shakes  back  the  long  hair  from  his 
brow,  and  walks  forth  with  a  determined  air. 

All  follow  him  ;  for  they  will  not  leave  him  yet.  A  little 
farther  on,  there  hangs  under  the  linden-tree,  at  the  cross 
roads,  an  image  of  the  Virgin.  Trien  had  hung  it  up  there 
on  a  beautiful  May  evening,  and  John  had  made  a  bench  for 
the  knees  at  the  foot  of  the  tree.  At  this  sacred  spot,  where 
they  daily  kneeled  and  prayed,  their  trembling  lips  were  to 
pronounce  an  anxious  adieu. 

The  linden-tree  may  now  be  seen  in  the  distance — the  spot 
which  is  to  witness  their  fatal  separation.  The  young  man 
slackens  his  pace,  while  his  mother,  in  the  midst  of  tender 
caresses,  thus  addresses  him — 

"  John,  my  son,  do  not  forget  what  I  have  told  you  ;  at  all 
times  have  God  before  your  eyes,  and  never  omit  to  say  your 
praters  before  lying  down  at  night.  So  long  as  you  do  this, 
your  heart  will  remain  pure  ;  but  should  it  happen  that  you 
forget  it  Dn  any  occasion,  then  think  next  day  on  me — on  your 
mother,  and  again  may  you  retun  to  the  right  path,  and  bt 
«  m 


18  TALB8  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

good ;  for  he  who  thinks  on  his  mother  and  his  God  is  stronf 
•gainst  all  evil,  my  dear  child." 

"  I  will  always,  always  think  on  you,  mother,"  replied  the 
jonng  man  in  a  low  tone  ;  "  and  if  I  am  sad,  and  lose  heart, 
then  shall  the  thought  of  you  support  and  console  me — for 
I  feel  too  wel.  that  I  shall  be  unhappy ;  I  love  you  aJ  too 
much." 

"  And,  then,  do  not  swear,  my  son,  and  lead  a  profligate 
life.  You  will  go  to  church  regularly,  will  you  not  ?  And 
as  often  as  possible,  you  will  let  us  know  how  you  are? 
And  ever  keep  in  mind,  that  the  most  trifling  news  from 
her  child,  makes  a  mother's  heart  glad.  Oh  I  every  day 
will  I  pray  to  your  guardian  angel,  that  he  may  not  forsake 
you." 

The  sweet  tone  of  his  mother's  voice  moved  the  young  man 
deeply ;  he  did  not  venture  to  look  at  her,  so  overpowering  an 
emotion  did  her  beaming  maternal  glance  raise  in  him  at  this 
solemn  hour  ;  he  listened  to  bar  with  sunken  head.  His  only 
reply  was  now  and  then  a  firmer  pressure  of  the  hand,  or  a 
deeper  sigh,  while,  "  Mother,  dear  mother ! "  were  the  only 
words  he  could  utter. 

Silently  they  approach  the  cross  road.  The  old  man  going 
on  the  other  side  of  the  youth,  said  to  him,  with  an  earnest 
voice — 

"  John,  my  son,  you  will  do  your  duty,  will  you  not,  with- 
out murmuring,  and  with  pleasure?  You  will  obey  your 
superiors ;  and  if  injustice  is  done  you,  bear  it  in  silence  ?  Be 
courteous  and  obliging  to  all ;  show  good- will  towards  every 
one,  and  what  is  given  you  to  do,  do  thoroughly.  Then  will 
God  aid  you,  and  your  superiors  and  comrades  love  you." 

Trien,  her  mother,  and  the  boy,  are  already  kneeling  on  the 
grass  under  the  linden-tree,  beside  the  bench,  and  are  engaged 
in  prayer.    John  has  no  time  to  reply  to  his  grandfather'!  ex* 


THE  SECBUIT.  1 

hortatioBs;  his  mother  leads  him  to  the  benoh<-«]I  kneel 
down  and  pray  with  uplifted  hands. 

The  wind  sounds  gently  among  the  firs;  the  spring  sun 
beams  mildly  on  the  sandy  highway — the  birds  oTerhead  sing 
a  joyful  song — all  is  calm  and  solemn,  and  the  pious  whisper- 
ings of  the  praying  family  ascend  audibly  through  the  linden 
branches. 

It  is  over ;  all  stand  up,  and  every  eye  is  filled  with  tears. 
The  mother  embraces  her  son  with  bitter  lamentation,  and 
though  the  others  stand  ready  to  say  the  melancholy  farewell, 
she  will  not  let  her  dear  firstborn  go :  again  and  again  she 
kisses  away  the  tears  &om  his  cheeks,  and  utters  unintelligible 
words  of  love  and  sorrow. 

At  last  she  sits  down  on  the  little  bench  exhausted  and 
fainting,  but  still  weeping. 

John  hastily  embraces  his  grandfather  and  Trien's  mother ; 
with  kindly  force  separates  himself  from  his  little  brother,  who 
clung  crying  to  his  legs ;  once  more  presses  his  mother  to  his 
breast,  kisses  her  brow,  and  with  a  final  adieu,  hastens  towards 
the  village  without  venturing  to  look  round,  till  he  has  turned 
the  corner  of  the  wood,  and  is  out  of  sight  of  his  relations. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Trien,  carrying  the  bread  under 
her  arm,  was  able  to  follow  and  overtake  him. 

For  a  long  time  both  young  people  stood  beside  one  another 
without  speaking ;  their  hearts  beat  quickly ;  a  dark  blush  of 
modesty  suffused  their  brow  and  cheeks — they  did  not  venture 
to  look  at  each  other.  Great  hour  I  in  which  two  human 
souls  tremble  in  each  other's  presence,  with  the  conscious- 
ness that  a  long-cherished  and  holy  secret  is  about  to  be 
revealed. 

John  took  Trien's  hand  shyly  and  timidly,  as  if  to  touch 
it  were  a  crime,  and  let  it  fall  again  as  if  it  burnt  him. 

After  a  pause,  during  which  perfect  silence  reigned,  he 


iO  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LZFB. 

took  her  hand  again,  and,  in  a  tone  nnlike  his  oidinirfi 

sighed — 

"  Trien,  will  you  not  forget  me?" 

A  flood  of  tears  was  the  maiden*s  only  reply. 

"Will  you  wait  till  John  comes  back  from  soldiering?** 
said  the  young  man  again.  "May  he  take  with  him  that 
one  consolation  at  least,  that  he  may  not  die  of  grief?" 

The  maiden  raised  her  large  blue  eyes,  and  gazed  on  him 
with  a  long  sad  look,  penetrating  his  soul  like  a  ray  of  fire, 
and  filling  his  heart  with  a  blessedness  hitherto  unknown  to 
him. 

He  continues  to  stand  there  unconsciously :  how  it  happens 
he  knows  not,  but  his  burning  lips  have  touched  the  young 
girl's  brow.  As  if  terrified,  he  draws  back  and  leans  upon 
an  oak.  There  before  him  beams  the  maiden's  countenance 
with  the  fire  of  modesty  and  of  happiness ;  he  lays  his  hand 
upon  his  heart,  for  he  feels  as  if  it  would  break  in  pieces,  so 
violent  is  its  beating.  Yet  an  indescribable  smile  plays  upon 
his  face,  his  eyes  sparkle  with  a  manly  glow,  proudly  and 
confidently  he  raises  his  head ;  a  single  glance  from  ^'^  be- 
loved seems  to  have  infused  into  him  a  giant's  strength  and 
courage. 

Behind  the  wood  a  well-known  voice  is  heard ;  some  one 
approaches  singing  a  merry  song.  It  is  Charles,  who  is  also 
to  be  a  soldier,  and  is  now  on  his  way  to  the  village. 

Trien  makes  great  efforts  to  hide  her  confusion.  The  sur- 
prise awakes  her  out  of  her  dreams ;  she  casts  a  hasty  look 
on  her  friend,  and  urges  him  to  go,  that  Charles  may  not 
overtake  him,  and  that  no  strange  eye  may  perceive  what  haa 
taken  place  between  them. 

But  Charles  advances  rapidly  to  join  his  fellow-traveller. 
Trien  perceives  it,  and  says  hastily — 

"John,  when  yet  are  gone  I  will  care  for  your  mother. 


THX  BECBT7IT.  tl 

gprandfatlier,  and  Kttle  brother ;  I  will  go  behind  the  plongh, 
as  it  is  proper  I  should  do,  and  care  for  the  ox  that  it  come 
to  no  harm.  I  am  strong  and  healthy,  and  will  manage  so 
that  on  your  return  you  will  find  everything  as  you  left  it." 

"Everything?"  repeated  the  young  man,  looking  deeply 
into  her  eyes,  "  everything?" 

"  Yes,  everything ;  and  I  will  not  go  to  any  merry-makingi 
BO  long  as  you  are  away,  for  without  you  I  can  have  no  plea- 
sure in  them.  But — you,  too,  must  not  drink,  nor  take  up 
with  pretty  girls,  as  that  profligate  smith  talks  about,  for  were 
I  to  learn  that,  I  would  soon  lie  in  the  churchyard  " — 

Just  at  this  moment  Charles  slaps  John's  shoulder  with  bii 
heavy  hand,  while  he  sings,  with  a  tone  of  mock  sadneai — 

**  Alaa,  my  lore,  I  now  from  thee  muit  part^ 
Most  to  th«  wars— ah,  how  it  tears  my  h6Ut  1 
Farewell ! — forget  me  not  I " 

The  young  girl  blushed  deeply.  John,  perceiving  her  per- 
plexity, replied  to  his  comrade's  jest  in  a  careless  tone,  and 
leizing  him  by  the  arm,  proceeded  with  him  to  the  village, 
while  Trien  walked  silently  behind. 

At  last  they  reach  the  village.  Before  the  "  Crown  "  stand 
three  young  fellows  with  knapsacks  on  their  backs,  waiting 
for  John  and  Charles. 

Every  one  is  kissing  parents  and  friends.  Trien  alone 
kisses  nobody ;  but  in  the  secret  glance  which  she  exchanged 
with  John  as  she  gave  him  the  bread,  lies  an  affecting  atter- 
.ince  of  the  soul. 

The  recruits  set  out  towards  the  city. 

Trien  leaves  the  village  without  shedding  a  tear ;  but,  be- 
hind the  fir-wood,  her  heart  is  too  fiill.  With  her  apron  to 
her  eyes  she  returns  to  the  hut,  where  all  would  be  empty  but 
for  memory,  which  filU  up  the  gap  earned  by  the  departort 
of  the  Bon  and  the  lover. 


AUtg  or  VLBMISB  Lorm. 


OHAPTBB  IIL 

On  a  dear  day  is  Angnst,  Trien  left  the  village  on  her  waj 
home,  in  high  Bpirits ;  she  seemed  in  great  haste,  and  happi- 
ness was  painted  on  her  smiling  countenance ;  light  were  her 
footsteps  in  the  dnsty  sand  of  the  highway,  and  now  and  then 
some  unintelligible  sounds  escaped  from  her  panting  breast  aa 
she  talked  with  herself. 

In  one  hand,  she  held  two  great  sheets  of  writing-paper, 
and  m  the  other,  a  prepared  quill,  and  a  little  bottle  of  ink, 
which  the  parish-clerk  had  made  her  a  present  of. 

On  the  way,  pretty  Kate,  the  wooden-shoemaker's  daughter, 
came  singing  out  of  a  side-path,  with  a  bundle  of  clover  on 
her  head,  and  compelled  her  friend  to  stop,  by  calling  out — 

"  Ho  there,  Trien  1  where  are  you  running  with  the  paper? 
Why  such  haste  ?  Is  there  a  fire  anywhere  ?  Tell  me,  how 
goes  it  with  your  John  ?" 

"With  our  John?"  replied  Trien,  "tfta/  the  Lord  God 
alone  knows,  Katie  dear.  Since  he  went  away,  we  have  heard 
fipom  him  only  thrice,  that  he  is  in  good  health.  It  is  now 
half  a  year  since  a  comrade  from  Tumheutz  left  a  message 
from  him  to  us  at  the  *  Crown.'  But  it  must  be  a  difficult 
thing  to  send  word,  for  he  is  somewhere  beyond  Maestricht, 
and  it  isn't  every  day  that  an  acquaintance  oomet  from  lo 
great  a  distance  to  our  quarter." 

"  Can  ho  not  write,  then,  Trien  ?" 


THE  BECBUIT.  IS 

**  He  used  to  he  able  to  do  so ;  for  wten  we  were  little, 
«nd  went  together  to  school  in  the  parish-clerk's  house,  ha 
once  carried  oflf  the  prize  for  his  writing.  But  I  daresay  he 
has  forgotten  it  all,  like  me." 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  the  paper,  then  ?" 

"  Why,  Kate,  two  months  ago  I  sought  out  my  old  writing- 
book,  and  have  been  learning  it  all  over  anew ;  and  I  wish  to 
see  now  whether  I  can  write  a  letter.  Whether  it  will  suc- 
ceed or  not,  I  cannot  tell ;  have  you  ever  written  a  letter  in 
your  life,  Kate?" 

"  No ;  but  I  have  heard  many  letters  read ;  for  my  brother, 
Dries,  who  dwells  in  the  city,  writes  almost  every  month  to 
us." 

"  What  kind  of  a  thing  is  a  letter  ?  What  is  in  it  ?  Is  it 
just  the  same  as  if  you  were  speaking  to  some  one  ?" 

"  Save  ye,  Trien  I  that  would  be  a  fine  thing,  indeed  I  It 
is  always  full  of  compliments  and  big  words,  which  you  could 
scarcely  understand." 

"  Ah  I  Kate,  how  shall  I  ever  manage  it  rightly  ?  But  if 
I  were  to  write  like  this,  for  example — *  John,  we  are  anxious, 
because  we  do  not  know  how  you  are.  If  you  do  not  send  us 
news  quickly,  your  mother  will  fall  ill,'  and  so  forth  ;  he  will 
understand  that,  won't  he  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  simple  little  heart ;  but  that  is  no  letter ;  every 
body  speaks  that  way — those  who  have  been  taught,  as  well 
as  those  who  have  not.  Wait  a  moment — ay,  this  is  the  way 
it  always  begins — *  Much-honoured  parents, — Trembling,  I 
take  the  pen  into  my  hand  to— to' — now,  I  can't  find  out 
what  comes  next." 

"To— write  I" 

"  Oh,  you  know  more  about  it  than  1 1  You  think  me  very 
■tupid.     That  is  bad  of  you,  Trien." 

"  Bat,  Kate,  what  can  you  be  thinking  about  ?    If  he  takei 


14  TALES  pF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

the  pen  into  his  hand,  he  doesn't  do  it  to  spread  a  piece  of 
bread  and  butter.  I  can't  help  laughing  at  you.  I  do  not 
understand  why  your  brother  Dries  always  trembles  when  he 
begins  a  letter.  Writing  must  surely  be  very  difficult  to  him. 
It  is  a  bad  thing,  too ;  for  when  one  trembles,  one  never  writes 
well." 

"  No,  that  is  not  it ;  but  Dries  follows  his  own  ways  in  the 
city,  and  is  always  wanting  money,  and  father  is  so  angry  with 
him,  and  that's  why  he  trembles.  But  tell  me,  Trien,  how 
is  your  cow  ?" 

"  Pretty  well,  now.  She  has  suffered  much,  poor  thing ; 
but  she  has  come  through  it  safely,  and  is  almost  herself  again. 
We  have  sold  the  calf  to  a  peasant  from  Wechel-ter-zande. 
It  was  a  mottled  calf — a  dear  little  thing  1 " 

Meanwhile  the  girls  had  moved  a  few  paces,  each  in  her 
own  direction. 

"  Well,  a  kind  greeting  to  your  family,  Trien,"  cried  Kate, 
as  she  walked  away  ;  "  see  that  you  manage  your  letter  pro- 
perly ;  and  send  John  our  compliments." 

"  Adieu  till  Sunday,  after  church  ;  then  I  shall  tell  you 
how  I  have  got  on  with  it.  Kind  remembrances  to  your 
sister." 

Kate's  voice  already  sounded  in  the  fir-wood  ;  merrily  and 
clearly  she  sang  the  burden  of  a  well-known  May  song — 

••  See !  with  jnpeaths  and  flowers  adom'd, 
Tlie  Tillag^Siay-pole,  pianted  high. 
And  the  boys  and  peasant  girli 
Dancing  round  it  merrily. 

Up.  maidens !  seize  the  hour, 
Up  I  and  join  the  gleeful  throng ; 
Tooth  oomes  but  once,  and  when  it  go«i^ 
Qo  with  it  dance  and  song." 

Trien  stood  dreaming  till  the  beautiful  voice  of  her  friend 
4lad  away  behind  the  wood.  Then  she  bounded  along  the  nwd, 


nns  BBCRUiT.  95 

half  skipping,  half  walking,  and  soon  reached  her  dwell* 
ing. 

Here  sat  both  widows  at  the  table,  and  waited  impatiently 
for  Trien's  return.  The  old  grandfather,  who  had  taken  cold, 
lay  in  bed,  and  pushed  his  head  through  the  curtains,  that 
with  eye  and  ear  at  least,  he  might  be  present  at  the  great 
work  in  which  they  were  engaged. 

So  soon  as  the  girl  made  her  appearance,  the  women  hastily 
cleared  off  everything  that  lay  on  the  table,  and  wiped  it  clean 
with  the  comer  of  their  aprons. 

"  Come  here,  Trien,  seat  yourself  on  grandfather's  chair,  it 
is  more  convenient." 

The  girl  seated  herself  silently  at  the  table,  spread  out  the 
paper,  and  then  stuck  the  end  of  the  pen  thoughtfully  in  her 
mouth. 

Meanwhile  the  women  and  the  grandfather  looked  at  her 
with  the  liveliest  curiosity.  The  little  brother  had  spread  out 
both  arms  on  the  table,  and  fixed  his  gaze  on  her  mouth  and 
eyes,  watching  what  she  would  do  with  the  pen.  But  Trien 
rose  from  her  seat  as  silent  as  they,  took  a  little  coffee-cup 
from  the  shelf,  poured  the  ink  out  of  the  bottle  into  it,  and 
set  it  on  the  table,  where  she  kept  turning  the  paper  this 
way  and  that  nine  or  ten  times. 

At  last  she  dipped  the  pen  in  the  ink,  and  disposed  herself 
to  write.  After  a  few  moments,  she  raised  her  head,  and 
asked — 

"  Now,  tell  me,  what  am  I  to  write?" 

Both  widows  looked  inquiringly  at  one  another,  and  then 
to  the  sick  grandfather,  who  had  pushed  out  his  head  far  be- 
yond the  curtain,  and  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  Trien's  hand. 

"Why,  write  that  we  are  all  well,"  said  the  old  man, 
coughing ;  "  a  letter  always  begins  so." 

The  maiden  smiled,  and  said — 


M  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

"  Ah,  that  were  fine,  to  be  sure  I  That  we  are  all  well,  and 
yen  have  been  lying  ill  in  bed  this  fortnight ! " 

"  But  you  can  say  that  at  the  end  of  the  letter,  Trien,  all 
the  same." 

"No,  child,  do  you  know  what  you  must  do ?"  said  John's 
iHOther,  "  You  must  first  ask  how  he  is,  and  after  you  have 
written  that,  we  shall  add  all  the  other  things." 

"  No,  child,"  said  the  other  widow ;  "  write  down  first  that 
you  take  the  pen  in  your  hand  to  inquire  after  his  health. 
That  is  the  way  the  letter  of  Peter- John's  Tist  began,  whicn 
I  heard  read  at  the  miller's  last  night." 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  Kate  the  wooden-shoemaker's  daughter 
said  too.  But  I'll  not  do  it  for  all  that — it  is  far  too  child- 
ish," replied  the  maiden,  impatiently.  "  John  knows,  with- 
out being  told,  that  I  can't  write  with  my  feet." 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  the  grandfather,  "  set  down  his 
name  at  the  top  of  the  paper." 

"  What  name  ?    Braems  ?  " 

"No,  no— John!" 

"  You  are  right,  grandfather,"  replied  the  girl.  "  Go  away, 
Pawken,  take  your  arms  off  the  table.  And  you,  mother,  pray 
sit  bacK  a  bit,  else  you  will  jog  me." 

She  put  the  pen  to  the  paper,  and,  while  seeking  for  the 
place  at  which  she  should  begin  to  write,  she  spelt,  in  a  low 
tone,  the  name  of  her  absent  friend. 

Suddenly  John's  mother  rose,  and,  seizing  the  girl's  hand, 
said — 

"  Wait  a  little,  Trien.  You  do  not  mean  to  say,  surely, 
that  John  is  not  good  ?  That  is  so  short  a  way  of  beginning  j 
would  it  not  be  better  to  set  down,  Beloved  son,  or,  Dear 
ehildt" 

Trien  scarcely  heard  her;  for  she  was  busy  licking  the 
paper,  and  half  angrily  exclaimed — 


THE  BECBUIT.  IT 

"  Look  there  I  that  comeg  of  it  all.  A  great  blot  on  the 
paper ;  and  no  licking  will  do  any  good — it  will  not  go  OTit 
I  must  take  the  other  sheet.'' 

"  Now,  Trien,  what  do  you  say  to  it  ?  Beloved  son — that 
sounds  much  better,  don't  you  think?" 

"No,  I  will  not  put  down  that,"  grumbled  Trien,  in  a 
ilightly  irritated  tone.  "  Can  I  write  to  John  as  if  I  were  hii 
mother?" 

"  Well,  what  will  you  write,  then  ?" 

The  maiden  blushed  all  over,  while  she  replied — 

"  Let  us  write.  Dear  friend.     Does  that  not  sound  well  ?" 

"  No,  no,  I'll  not  have  that,"  said  the  mother.  "  I  would 
rather  have  John,  short  as  it  is." 

"  Beloved  JoAn-— will  that  do?" 

"Ay,  ay,  that's  right  I"  replied  the  others  all  at  once,  as  if 
overjoyed  at  the  solution  of  the  heavy  problem. 

"  Now,  keep  off  from  the  table  all  of  you,"  cried  Trien ; 
"  and  keep  Pawk  away,  that  he  may  not  shake  me." 

She  now  began  the  work.  Immediately  after,  pure  drops  of 
perspiration  stood  upon  her  brow ;  she  held  her  breath,  and  her 
countenance  glowed.  Soon  after,  she  heaved  a  deep  sigh  as 
if  she  felt  a  great  burden  lifted  from  her,  and  said  joyfully — 

"  Ah,  it  is  the  most  difficult  of  letters  that  B,  But  there 
it  stands  now,  with  its  thick  head." 

Both  women  stood  up  and  looked  with  great  admiration  at 
the  letter,  which  was  as  big  as  a  finger-joint  at  least. 

*•  Well,  that  is  clever  I "  exclaimed  John's  mother ;  "  the 
thing  looks  like  a  wallet,  and  it  stands  for  Beloved  John ! 
Well,  well,  writing  is  a  fine  thing ;  one  would  almost  think 
it  was  witchcraft." 

"  Come,  let  me  get  on,"  said  Trien  courageously.  '*  I 
shall  manage  it  famously  now ;   if  only  the  pen  would  noi 


t8  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

Trien  now  laboured  on,  perspiring  and  groaning,  TIm 
grandfather  panted  and  coughed ;  the  women  were  silent,  and 
did  not  venture  to  stir ;  the  little  brother  busied  himself  dip- 
ping his  fingers  in  the  ink,  and  bepainting  his  little  arms  with 
black  spots. 

After  a  time,  the  first  line  was  full  of  great  letters,  and  tho 
girl  paused  a  moment. 

"Well,  Trien,  how  far  are  you  now?"  asked  John'i 
mother.  "You  must  read  us  what  you  have  got  on  the 
paper,  there." 

"  Do  not  be  so  very  impatient,"  said  Trien ;  "  nothing 
more  stands  there  yet  than.  Beloved  John,  All  goes  on  well. 
Just  look  how  the  sweat  breaks  out  on  me  I  I'd  rather 
muck  the  stable ;  you  seem  to  think,  surely,  that  writing  is  no 
labour. — Pawken,  let  alone  the  ink,  you  rascal,  else  you  will 
upset  the  cup." 

"  Come  now,  go  on,  girl,"  said  the  grandfather,  "  otherwite 
the  letter  will  not  be  written  till  next  week." 

"Yes,  that's  true  enough,"  replied  Trien;  "but  tell  me 
what  I  shall  put  down  next." 

"  In  the  first  place,  and  before  anything  else,  inquire  after 
his  health." 

She  wrote  on  again  for  a  time,  wiped  out  two  or  three  in« 
correct  letters  with  her  finger,  annoyed  herself  very  much  with 
eflforts  to  get  hold  of  the  hair  which  had  found  its  way  into 
the  slit  of  the  pen,  scolded  the  parish-clerk  because  the  ink 
was  so  thick,  and  then  read,  with  a  loud  voice, "  Beloved  John, 
how  is  it  with  your  health  /" 

"  That  is  as  it  should  be,"  said  the  mother.  "  Now,  write 
that  we  are  all  well — both  ourselves  and  the  cattle — and  that 
we  wish  him  good-day." 

Trien  reflected  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  on  with  hat 
writing.    As  soon  as  she  was  ready,  she  read — 


THE  BEGEurr.  If 

**  Chdheprmsedy  we  are  aU  in  good  health,  and  the  ox  and 

Uie  cow  likewise^  except  grandfather,  who  is  til ;  and  we  aU 
together  wish  you  good-day" 

"  Heavens  I "  cried  her  mother,  "  Trien,  child,  where  hare 
you  learned  all  that?    The  parish-clerk  himself" — 

"  Do  not  confuse  me,"  interrupted  Trien,  "  and  make  me 
forget  something.     I  feel  now  that  all  will  go  capitally." 

For  half  an  hour  the  deepest  silence  reigned.  The  work 
seemed  to  go  on  more  easily,  for  Trien  smiled  at  times  while 
writing.  Pawken  alone  annoyed  her,  for  he  was  now  dipping 
his  whole  hand  in  the  ink,  and  his  arm  was  black  all  over. 
She  had  pushed  the  cup  to  the  other  side  of  the  table  several 
times  ;  but  the  little  fellow  was  so  bent  upon  playing  with  the 
ink,  that  nothing  could  take  him  away  from  it. 

Spite  of  that,  the  two  first  pages  were  now  full  to  the  edge. 
At  the  request  of  the  women,  Trien  now  read  what  she  had  set 
down,  with  a  certain  self-satisfaction,  and  it  was  as  follows  : — 

"  *  Beloved  John, — How  is  it  with  your  health  ?  God  be 
praised,  we  are  all  in  good  health,  and  the  ox  and  the  cow 
likewise,  except  grandfather,  who  is  ill ;  and  we  all  together 
wish  you  good-day.  It  is  now  six  months  since  we  heard 
from  you.  Send  us  word,  then,  whether  you  are  still  in  life. 
It  is  not  right  of  you  so  to  forget  us — us,  who  are  so  fond  of 
you  that  your  mother  speaks  of  you  all  day  long,  and  that  I 
dream  of  you  every  night — dreaming  that  you  are  unhappy, 
and  that  I  hear  sounding  in  my  ears  without  ceasing  "  Trien  I 
Trien  I "  so  that  I  start  up  in  my  sleep  and  leap  out  of  bed. 
And  the  ox,  poor  thing  I  is  always  looking  out  of  its  stall  and 
heaving  sighs,  which  it  would  almost  make  you  shed  tears  to 
hear.  And  that  none  of  us  know  anything  at  all  about  you 
18  a  gi'eat  cause  of  grief  to  us,  and  you  ought  to  have  pity  on 
us,  John,  for  it  will  make  your  poor  mother  quite  ill.  Poor 
woman!   if  she  only  hears  your  name,  a  spasm  seizes  her 


30  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  UFB. 

throat,  and  slie  begins  to  weep,  so  that  it  almo«t  breftki  XDf 
heart  to  see  her  * " — 

While  she  was  reading  these  lines,  the  eyes  of  the  listeners 
gradually  filled  with  tears ;  at  the  sad  tones  of  the  last  words, 
they  could  no  longer  restrain  their  emotion,  and  the  maiden 
was  interrupted  by  loud  sobs  and  groans.  The  grandfather 
had  laid  his  head  on  the  bedstead  to  conceal  his  tears ;  John's 
mother,  too  deeply  affected  to  be  able  to  repress  her  feelings, 
sprang  up  and  fell  speechless  on  the  young  girl's  neck,  who 
beheld  with  surprise  the  effect  of  her  writing. 

"Trien,  TrienI  where  did  you  find  these  words?"  cried 
the  other  widow.  "  They  go  like  a  knife  through  my  heart ; 
and  yet  they  are  very  beautifol  I" 

"  Ah  I  it  is  the  simple  truth,"  sighed  John's  mother ;  **  it  is 
better  that  he  should  know  what  I  have  suffered  in  my  heart 
Bead  on  farther,  Trien  dear ;  it  quite  astonishes  me  that  yon 
can  write  so  well — there  never  was  the  like  of  it.  Your  hands 
are  much  too  good,  child,  to  milk  cows  or  till  the  land  j  but 
God  lets  many  strange  things  happen  in  the  world." 

Pleased  with  the  praise  she  received,  Trien  said  with  » 
self-satisfied  smile — 

"  I  will  cope  with  any  one  in  writing.  Now,  at  last,  hav** 
I  discovered  the  proper  way  of  writing  a  letter.  But  listec 
still,  for  there  is  more  yet : — 

"  *  Ah,  John,  if  you  but  knew  all,  you  would  not  neglect  to 
send  us  news.  The  clover  has  failed  on  account  of  the  severe 
frost,  and  because  the  seed  was  bad ;  but  the  sainfcin  smiles 
at  you  when  you  look  at  it,  as  mellow  as  butter.  And  the 
grain  has  suffered  a  little  from  the  drought;  nevertheless, 
our  dear  heavenly  Father  has  blessed  us  with  beautiful  buck- 
wheat, and  a  large  crop  of  early  potatoes.  And  the  joiner  is 
married  to  a  girl  from  Pulderbosch  who  squints,  but  she  has 
brought  a  little  dowry  with  her.    John  Sos,  the  butcher,  fel] 


THB  SECBUIT.    .  SI 

from  the  brewer's  roof  on  our  old  smith's  back,  and  the  smith 

lies  at  the  point  of  death,  poor  fellow/  " Trien  paused, 

and  looked  up  at  her  audience. 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  the  mother,  disappointed.  "Will 
you  not  tell  him  that  the  cow  has  calved?" 

"  0  yes,  I  forgot  that. See,  there  it  is  already — *  Our 

cow  has  calved;  all  went  well,  and  the  calf  is  sold.'" 

"Will  you  say  nothing  about  our  rabbits,  then,  Trien?" 
asked  the  grandfather. 

After  it  was  written,  the  maiden  read — 

"  *  Grandfather  has  made  a  rabbit-warren  in  the  stable ; 
they  are  as  fat  as  badgers ;  but  the  biggest  buck  shall  not  be 
killed  till  you  come  back,  John,  and  then  we  shall  have  a 
glorious  feast.'" 

All  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh ;  the  little  fellow,  who  saw 
everybody  happy,  and  was  himself  somewhat  moved  by  the 
word  feast^  clapped  his  hands.  Unfortunately,  however,  he 
struck  the  coffee-cup  so  violently  that  it  rolled  over  the  table, 
and  the  ink  was  poured  over  the  beautiful  letter  like  a  black 
flood.  Laughter  disappeared  from  every  countenance ;  they 
looked  at  one  another  astounded  and  silent,  and  held  up  their 
hands  in  despair,  while  Pawken,  who  was  afraid  of  a  beating, 
was  howling  and  screaming  by  anticipation.  A  considerable 
time  was  spent  in  overwhelming  .the  child  with  reproofs,  and 
in  bitter  lamentations  over  the  mishap,  till  at  last  it  occurred 
to  some  one  to  say — 

"  0  Heaven  I  what  is  to  be  done  now?" 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Trien  in  a  decided  tone,  "  the  mishap 
is  not  so  bad,  after  all.  I  had  some  inclination  to  write  the 
letter  over  again  at  any  rate,  for  at  first  it  did  not  go  so  well 
ms  I  wished — the  letters  were  too  big,  and  the  writing  crooked. 
Now  I  shall  do  it  much  better — I  feel  in  spirits  to  attempt  it. 
Just  let  me  run  as  fast  as  I  can  into  the  village  for  paper  and 


59  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

ink)  and  to  get  my  pen  made  again,  for  it  has  l)ecome  fiur  too 
soft." 

"  Then  go  quickly,  child,"  was  the  reply.  "  You  have  the 
five-franc  piece  you  got  for  the  calf;  get  the  parish-clerk  to 
change  it,  for  we  must  send  at  least  eighteen-pence  &  our 
poor  John. — Pawken  I  get  out  of  the  house,  and  don't  show 
face  till  evening,  if  possible." 

Trien  hastened  out  of  the  door  on  her  way  to  the  village, 
with  a  pleased  expression  on  her  face.  The  victory  she  had 
gained,  the  conviction  that  she  could  henceforth  write  to  John, 
and  above  all,  a  kind  of  pride  she  felt  in  her  accomplishments, 
filled  her  heart  with  a  secret  pleasure. 

At  the  linden-tree,  by  the  cross-roads,  she  saw  the  letter- 
carrier  at  a  distance  approaching.  This  made  her  stand 
still,  and  her  heart  beat  quick  with  expectation ;  for  as  this 
road  led  nowhere  but  to  the  mud-huts,  and  the  uninhabited 
heath  and  wood  beyond,  she  had  no  doubt  that  the  postman 
brought  some  news  from  John.  And  in  fact,  as  he  approached, 
he  took  a  letter  out  of  his  pocket,  and  said  smiling — 

"  Trieny,  I  have  got  something  here  for  you,  which  comes 
all  the  way  from  Venloo;  but  there  is  thirty-five  cents  to 
pay." 

"Thirty-five  cents  I"  murmured  Trien,  as  she  took  the 
letter  with  a  trembling  hand,  and  dreamily  gazed  at  the  super- 
scription. 

''  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  letter-carrier,  "  it  is  written  there  on 
the  outside.     Am  I  likely  to  cheat  you  for  such  a  trifle?" 

"Can  you  change  this?"  asked  Trien,  giving  him  the  five- 
franc  piece. 

The  letter-carrier  changed  the  piece  of  money  for  her, 
deducting  the  postage,  then  greeted  the  maiden  in  a  friendly 
way,  and  returned  to  the  village. 

Trien  ran  joyfully  home.     But  unable  to  resist  her  imj^ 


THE  BECBUIT.  SB 

tienoe,  she  tore  open  the  letter,  and  was  not  a  little  surprised 
to  ice  another  fall  out  of  the  envelope.  She  lifted  it  up.  A 
modest  blush  overspread  her  brow  and  face,  while  a  smile 
played  round  her  lips,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure. 
On  this  letter  there  was  written,  in  large  letters,  "  For  Trten 
alone"  For  Trien I  here,  in  this  bit  of  paper,  John's  soul 
was  shut  up ;  his  voice  spoke  out  of  it  to  her — to  her  alone  I 
It  was  a  secret  between  John  and  her  I 

At  once  moved  and  perplexed,  she  stood  for  a  moment  look- 
ing to  the  ground :  a  flood  of  thoughts  flowed  through  her 
head,  till  the  distant  lowing  of  the  ox  recalled  her  to  herself 
and  she  remembered  that  it  was  not  right  to  stay  away  so 
long.  She  hid  the  second  letter  in  her  bosom,  and  hastened 
to  the  hut,  where  she  surprised  the  two  widows,  who  were 
waiting  for  her  return,  with  the  joyful  exclamation,  "  A  letter 
from  John !  a  letter  from  John  I " 

Both  came  to  meet  her  with  joyful  surprise,  and  the  good 
old  women  almost  skipped  with  delight.  The  grandfather 
bent  himself  so  far  forward  to  see  the  letter,  that  he  almost 
fell  out  of  bed. 

In  a  few  hasty  words,  Trien  told  them  how  she  had  met  the 
letter-carrier  by  the  way,  and  how  he  had  asked  thirty-five 
cents ;  but  she  was  interrupted  by  the  others,  who  kept  calling 
oat :  "  Oh,  Trien,  read  it  I  read  it,  Trien  I" 

Trien  seated  herself  at  the  table,  and  began  to  spell  out  th« 
letter  with  a  loud  voice ;  and  as  the  writing  was  not  very  dis- 
tinct, she  had  to  do  so  with  every  word,  and  had  to  repeat 
many  of  them  before  she  could  bring  out  any  sense.  She 
read  as  follows : — 

"  My  very  dear  Parents, — I  take  the  pen  into  my  hand 
in  order  to  inquire  into  the  state  of  your  precious  health, 
and  I  hope  to  hear  from  you  soon  also.  I  have  got  sore  eyes, 
and  am  at  present  in  the  hospital ;  and  I  am  very  anxiou% 


14  YALtSB  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

dear  parents,  and  somewhat  afraid,  because  so  many  oomradoi 
have  become  blind  from  the  same  disease." 

Trien  could  read  no  more :  she  let  her  head  sink  on  the 
ill-starred  paper,  while  the  women  and  the  grandfather  shed 
bitter  tears,  and  bewailed  their  misfortune  with  loud  sobs. 

"  0  God  I  0  God  I — my  poor  child  I  my  poor  child  I  my 
poor  child  I"  cried  the  mother,  raising  her  hands  to  heaven, 
and  walking  about  the  room  in  despair.     "  Blind  I  blind  I" 

The  maiden  raised  her  head  again,  and  said  through  her 
tears — "  For  Heaven's  sake  do  not  make  it  worse  than  it  is 
— it  is  bad  enough  already.  Let  me  go  on ;  perhaps  it  is  not 
so  bad  as  we  suppose.     Be  still,  and  listen. 

"  But  tell  mother  not  to  be  anxious,  for  I  am  already  a  little 
better,  and  I  hope  to  recover,  if  it  please  God.  The  worst 
thing  of  all  is  want  of  food,  for  we  are  on  half  rations  in  the 
hospital.  We  could  take  in  one  mouthful  the  allowance  oi 
bread  and  meat  for  a  whole  day ;  and  in  addition  to  that  we 
have  a  dish  of  Ratatul*  without  salt  and  pepper,  and  that  if 
all.  When  the  heart  is  sound,  one  may  live  on  that.  But, 
dear  parents,  if  it  is  in  your  power,  send  me  a  little  money. 
We  are  wretched  enough  here,  sitting  all  day  in  the  dark, 
and  mourning,  for  we  can't  bear  the  light.  Many  compli- 
ments to  grandfather,  and  Trien,  and  her  mother,  and  Paw* 
ken,  and  I  wish  you  all  health  and  long  life. 

"  Kobe,  the  son  of  Tistje  the  crofter,  has  been  made  a  cor- 
poral. The  rats  in  the  barracks  have  bitten  a  great  hole  in 
my  knapsack,  and  they  have  set  down  a  new  knapsack  to 
my  account,  and  it  costs  seven  francs  and  seventeen  centimes. 
Were  it  not  for  this,  I  should  have  no  debt.  All  my 
superiors  like  me ;  and  the  sergeant,  who  is  a  Walloon  from 
Liege,  is  pleased  with  me  also. 

*  Mataiutt  or  BaUUndl,  %  Walloon  word,  ia  »  kind  ol  Map,  ov  ngoot,  nuda  fA  Mnfi 


THB  BJPCBUIT.  S5 

**  Charles,  the  farmer's  son,  has  written  this  letter  for  me, 
and  he  is  in  the  hospital  too,  with  sore  eyes ;  but  you  must 
not  let  his  father  know  it,  for  he  is  almost  well  again.  The 
other  friends  from  our  village  are  still  in  good  health.  We 
send  you,  beloved  parents,  our  respectful  greetings.  Your 
dutiful  son." 

After  she  had  read  it,  Trien  held  the  comer  of  her  apron 
to  her  eyes,  and  mourned  in  silence;  the  grandfather  had 
sunk  behind  the  bed-curtains ;  the  two  widows  sat  weeping. 

For  a  long  time  a  painful  silence  reigned,  only  interrupted 
now  and  then  by  sighs  and  sobs,  till  Trien  rose,  and  taking  a 
sickle  from  the  wall,  went  to  the  door  and  said — 

"  Our  grief  would  soon  have  made  me  forget  our  poor  cow. 
I  go  to  fetch  sainfoin.  Try,  in  the  meantime,  to  pick  up  a 
little  courage,  and  think  on  what  we  should  do." 

No  one  answered.  The  maiden  took  a  wheelbarrow  from 
before  the  door,  and  wheeled  it  past  the  house.  Behind  an 
oak-tree,  and  concealed  by  the  brushwood,  she  stopped  and  sat 
down  on  the  barrow.  With  trembling  hands,  she  put  aside 
her  neckerchief,  and  took  out  the  letter.  When  she  had 
opened  it,  she  spelt  out  aloud  what  follows,  while  tears  more 
than  once  bedim med  her  eyes,  and  she  had  almost  fainted. 

"  This  letter,  too,  is  written  by  Charles,  but  I  have  told 
him  word  for  word  what  he  should  set  down. 

"  Trien, — I  have  not  ventured  to  write  it  to  my  mother, 
because  the  news  is  too  terrible.  Trien,  I  am  blind — blind 
for  my  whole  life.  Both  eyes  are  gone.  It  does  not  grieve 
me  so  much  that  I  have  lost  my  sight,  as  that  I  can  see  you 
no  more  on  earth,  nor  mother,  nor  grandfather,  nor  any  ot 
those  who  love  me ;  and  that  this  will  be  my  death,  I  feel  too 
well. 

"Trien,  since  I  grew  blind  I  always  see  you  before  my 
•yea,  and  it  in  that  alone  which  keeps  me  alive;  but  now  I 


M  TALBf  OF  VLEMIBH  UWE. 

may  no  longer  think  of  that,  nor  you  either.  Ah,  my  ddtf 
fnend,  yon  may  go  to  merry-makings  now  as  you  used  to  do ; 
do  not  stay  away  from  them  on  my  account,  but  enjoy  yourself 
while  you  are  young.  For  were  you  to  suffer  for  my  sake, 
then  should  I  die  an  earlier  death. 

"  Trien,  I  have  written  this  to  you  alone,  that  you  may 
acquaint  my  poor  mother  with  it  by  degrees.  For  Heaven'i 
Bake,  do  it  gently,  Trien  I — Your  unhappy  John,  till  death.'* 

Scarcely  had  the  girl  read,  with  the  greatest  effort,  the 
closing  words  of  the  letter,  when  her  face  became  as  pale  as 
death,  her  arms  sank  powerless  by  her  side,  her  eyes  closed, 
and  her  head  fell  slowly  back  on  the  wheelbarrow.  There 
she  lay  unconscious,  in  a  deathlike  swoon. 

The  sultry  breeze  from  the  heath  lazily  stirred  the  oak 
twigs  overhead,  and  the  quivering  leaves  threw  their  shadow 
on  the  maiden's  pale  brow ;  the  honey-bee  buzzed  and  hummed 
round  her  head ;  high  up  towards  the  heavens,  the  skylark 
soared  with  its  song ;  far  away  into  the  solitude  was  heard  the 
ceaseless  chirping  of  the  crickets — and  yet  all  was  still  and 
silent.  Nothing  awoke  the  maiden  out  of  her  death -like 
slumber. 

The  sun  advanced  gradually  in  its  path,  till  a  warm  beam 
penetrated  the  foliage,  and  fell  on  her  face.  The  unhappy 
girl  slowly  opened  her  eyes,  and  the  blood  began  to  flow  again 
through  her  veins.  She  raised  her  head  and  looked  round 
with  a  confused  expression,  unable  to  understand  where  she 
was.  The  letter,  which  still  lay  open  at  her  feet,  recalled 
the  fearful  calamity  to  her  mind.  She  picked  it  up,  and, 
folding  it  carefully,  put  it  into  her  bosom,  and  bent  her  head 
in  deep  reflection. 

After  some  time  she  rose,  anA  wheeling  the  barrow  hastily 
to  a  little  field,  half  tore  and  half  cut  the  sainfoin.  In  less 
than  a  minute  the  barrow  was  fdlly  laden.    With  as  much 


THE  SECBUrr.  17 

impidity  slio  retnmed  home,  threw  down  the  fodder  before  the 
sow,  and  then  entering  the  house,  said  abruptly — 

"  To-morrow,  at  daybreak,  I  go  to  John." 

"  Oh,  child  I "  cried  her  mother,  "  it  is  at  the  other  end  of 
the  country.  What  are  you  thinking  of?  You  will  not  reach 
it  in  a  year  I" 

"  I  go  to  John,  I  tell  you,"  replied  the  girl  decidedly,  "  and 
I  shall  find  him  out  were  it  three  hundred  miles  from  here. 
Our  parish-clerk  will  tell  me  the  way." 

John's  mother  went  up  to  her  with  folded  hands  and  with 
supplicating  mien,  and  sighed — 

"  Ah,  Trien,  dear  angel  I  will  you  really  do  that  for  my 
child?    I  will  bless  you  till  my  dying  day!" 

"  Do  it  I"  cried  Trien,  "  do  it  1  The  king  himself  will  not 
prevent  me.  I  will  see  John,  and  console  him,  or  perish  in 
the  attempt." 

**  Oh  I  a  thousand  thousand  thanks,  Trien !"  eicolaimed  tht 
r,  And  clasped  the  maiden  to  her  breaft 


VSALBS  OF  FLEMISH  UMWk 


OHAPTEB  IV. 

It  11  just  seyen  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  bat  tlie  heat  ii 
great  notwithstanding,  for  the  sun  glows  brightly  in  the  deep 
blue  sky. 

See,  yonder  on  the  highway,  not  far  from  the  beautiftil  river 
Meuse,  a  peasant  girl  is  walking  forward  vigorously.  Her 
dress  shows  that  she  is  a  stranger  here  :  for  such  plaited  caps 
ornamented  with  lace,  and  such  straw  hats,  are  not  worn  by 
the  women  of  Limburg.  She  walks  barefoot,  carrying  her  shoeji 
in  her  hand.  The  perspiration  drops  from  her  brow ;  and 
though  weary  even  to  fainting,  she  directs  her  look  with  in- 
expressible joy  upon  a  distant  church-tower ;  for  there  lies  the 
city  Venloo,  the  termination  of  her  long  journey. 

Poor  Trien  I  for  four  days  now  she  has  walked  steadily  on, 
asking  her  way,  and  suffering  pain  and  fatigue.  She  has  al- 
lowed herself  short  repose  and  little  food  ;  but  God  and  her 
strong  nature  have  aided  her.  She  has  found  it — the  place 
where  her  unhappy  friend  lies  suffering  and  languishing  far 
from  his  friends  and  home.  All  her  grief  is  forgotten ;  her 
heart  leaps  with  joy  and  beats  with  impatience.  Had  she 
wings,  she  would  fly  like  lightning  to  those  turrets,  from  whose 
roofe  the  sun  is  reflected  as  from  a  mirror.  Increasing  her 
speed,  the  young  peasant  girl  pushed  on,  till  she  came  close 
tipoQ  the  entrenchmentR  of  the  city  of  Venloo.      She  then 


THE  RECBUIT.  «9 

qniclfy  put  on  lier  shoes,  brashed  off  the  dust  a  little,  ar- 
ranged her  dress,  and  entered  the  open  gate  with  a  stoiit 
heart. 

After  she  had  advanced  a  few  steps  between  the  outer  ram- 
parts, she  observed  a  soldier  with  a  musket  in  his  hand  walk- 
ing up  and  down  before  a  little  house.  While  still  at  some 
distance,  she  smiled  in  a  friendly  way  to  the  sentinel ;  but  he 
looked  at  her  with  perfect  indifference.  Spite  of  this,  how- 
ever, she  approached  boldly,  and  asked,  with  an  agreeable 
smile — 

"  Friend,  can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  John  Braems  ? 
^e  is  here  among  the  soldiers  somewhere." 

The  sentinel  was  a  Walloon,  from  about  Liege, 

"  Can't  understand,"  he  grumbled,  and  wheeled  round  to 
call  the  corporal. 

The  latter  walked  out  of  the  guard-house,  and  came  kindly 
np  to  the  maiden,  who  courtesied  politely,  and  inquired — 

**  Mr.  Corporal,  can  you  tell  me,  if  you  will  be  so  good, 
where  John  Braems  is  to  be  found  ?" 

The  corporal  looked  amazed,  like  one  who  is  disappointed 
in  his  expectations,  and,  turning  to  the  guard-house,  he  called 
oat  in  the  Hainault  dialect — 

"  Ho,  Fleming  I  come  here.  Here's  a  chance  of  earning  a 
pot  of  beer." 

A  young  soldier  sprang  down  from  the  wooden  board  on 
which  he  was  sitting  and  came  out,  still  rubbing  a  heavy 
sleep  from  his  eyes,  and  looking  rather  cross ;  but  as  soon  ai 
he  saw  the  girl,  his  expression  became  more  friendly. 

"  Now,  then,  Mieken,"  he  asked,  "  what  do  you  want?" 

"  I  have  come  here  to  see  John  Braems.  Can  you  tell  me 
wnere  he  is  to  be  found  ?" 

"  John  Braems  I     I  have  never  heard  the  name." 

"  But  he  is  a  soldier  among  the  Belgians,  like  younell" 


40  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

^  Yes,  that  may  be ;  bnt  does  he  serve  in  the  oaralij  or 
the  infantry  ?" 

**  What  do  yon  mean,  friend  ?" 

"Is  he  in  the  horse  or  foot?" 

"  I  don't  know  that ;  but  he  is  a  soldier  in  the  Kifles.  Are . 
they  not  in  the  city  ?** 

"  There  I — no  wonder  I  didn't  know  him ;  we  are  ol  the 
ninth." 

During  this  conversation,  the  corporal,  and  three  or  four 
soldiers  beside  the  sentinel,  had  approached  the  girl.  Trien 
could  not  understand  why  they  peered  into  her  face  in  so  strange 
a  way,  laughing  and  jesting  in  the  Walloon  dialect.  She  be- 
gan, however,  to  feel  ashamed,  and  said  to  the  Fleming,  im- 
ploringly— 

**  Ah,  friend !  be  so  good  as  to  show  me  the  way ;  I  am  in 
such  great  haste." 

The  obliging  soldier  answered  quickly — 

"  GK)  through  the  gate,  strike  into  the  first  street  on  the 
right,  then  to  the  left — then  once  more  to  the  left,  and  after 
that  to  the  right  again,  till  you  come  to  a  chapel ;  you  leave 
this  on  your  left^  and  turn  to  the  right,  behind  the  big  house, 
where  you  will  see  a  shop ;  when  you  have  gone  a  consider- 
able way  ftirther,  then  take  to  your  left  again,  and  this  will 
bring  you  to  the  market-place ;  ask  there  for  the  barracks  of 
the  second  Bifles,  and  any  child  will  show  you  where  it  is  to  be 
found." 

Trien  was  almost  out  of  her  senses ;  her  head  whirled  with 
all  the  lefts  and  rights  which  she  had  endeavoured  to  fix  in 
her  mind.  She  could  make  nothing  of  it,  however,  and  waa 
about  to  beg  a  clearer  explanation,  when,  suddenly,  the  senti- 
nel shouted  as  loud  as  he  could — 

""AuxarmesI" 

Every  one  ran  hither  and  thither,  and  hastened  to  the  gnaid- 


THE  RECBUIT.  41 

toTue  to  get  their  arms;  while  the  soldier  said  hastilj  to  tho 
terrified  girl — 

"  Oflf  with  you  I  off  with  you !— run,  or  we  shall  be  put  in- 
to the  lock-up.     The  town-governor  is  coming." 

The  maiden  did  not  wait  to  be  told  twice ;  for  at  the  city 
gate  she  saw  an  officer  on  horseback,  who  looked  to  her  like 
a  king,  and  had  a  great  moustache.  Angry,  because  he  had 
surprised  the  guard  while  speaking  with  a  young  woman,  he 
looked  at  the  poor  peasant  girl  as  if  he  would  eat  her,  but  rod© 
past  without  saying  anything ;  but  she  heard  with  trembling 
how  he  scolded  the  soldiers,  without  being  able  to  understand 
what  had  caused  such  violent  anger. 

She  hastened  into  the  city,  and  at  last  found  the  market- 
place. Here  and  there  she  saw  soldiers  in  various  costumes ; 
but  the  occurrence  with  the  guard  had  made  her  prudent. 
She  now  addressed  herself  to  a  citizen's  wife— 

"  Do  you  know  Flemish,  friend?" 

"Dutch?    Yes." 

"  Will  you  be  so  good  as  tell  me  where  the  Rifles  lie?" 

"  Certainly.  You  must  turn  round  the  comer  there,  and 
go  straight  on  to  the  end  of  the  street ;  there  you  will  find  the 
riflemen's  barracks." 

"  A  thousand  thanks  I "  said  Trien,  setting  off  in  the  direc- 
tion pointed  out.  She  easily  enough  recognised  the  barrack 
when  she  reached  it,  both  on  account  of  the  many  soldiers 
going  out  and  in,  and  the  noise  of  the  drums  inside. 

Smiling  with  joy,  she  went  straight  up  to  the  gate  with  the 
intention  of  entering,  but  the  sentinel  called  out  in  a  gruff  tone — 

"  Halt  1  back  I — there  is  no  admission  here." 

And  when  the  girl  still  ventured  to  advance  a  step  or  two^ 
he  pushed  her  back  with  his  hand. 

**  Ah,  friend  I  I  wish  very,  very  much  to  speak  with  an  •©- 
qnidntanee  who  is  a  soldier  here ;  what  must  I  do  ?" 


tf  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

"In  what  "battalion,  and  in  what  company  te  he?"  asked 
the  sentinel. 

"  Ah  I  I  can't  tell  that,"  she  replied  in  a  disheartened 
tone. 

**  Wait  for  half  an  hour,"  rejoined  the  sentinel ;  "  the  sig- 
nal for  soup  is  just  about  to  be  given,  and  immediately  after 
is  the  call  to  parade.  Then  you  will  see  every  man  in  the 
barrack  march  out,  and  if  you  have  good  eyes,  may  single 
out  your  friend.  Go,  meanwhile,  and  drink  a  glass  of  beer  in 
the  *  Falcon,'  hard  by,  and  leave  me,  for  I  see  the  adjutant 
looking  at  us." 

The  sentinel  now  let  the  perplexed  girl  stand  there  un- 
heeded, struck  his  right  hand  forcibly  on  the  butt-end  of  his 
musket,  threw  back  his  head,  and  marched  up  and  down  like 
a  proud  soldier  without  casting  another  glance  at  poor  Trien. 

She  remained  for  a  moment  sunk  in  deep  thought,  and 
tortured  herself  to  find  out  how  it  could  be  a  misdeed  to  show 
a  stranger  the  way.  Her  grief  and  vexation  began  to  overpower 
her.  Impatient  as  she  was,  however,  half  an  hour  seemed  to 
her  not  too  long  to  wait,  and  she  accordingly  determined  to 
stand  near  the  barrack-gate  when  the  Kifles  were  marching 
out,  and  take  such  great  care  that  not  one  should  escape  her 
eye.  She  would  see  and  recognise  Johnl  But  with  this 
charming  thought,  her  countenance  was  suddenly  overcast; 
for  it  all  at  once  occurred  to  her  that  it  was  impossible  that  a 
blind  man  could  march  with  the  rest  of  the  soldiers.  Still, 
what  could  she  know  about  it?  Everything  here  was  so 
Bingular  and  extraordinary  to  her.  In  her  despair,  she  fol- 
lowed the  sentiners  advice,  and  slowly  went  towards  the 
"  Falcon."  Arrived  in  the  tavern,  she  called  for  a  glass  of 
beer,  and  sat  down,  weary  and  ashamed,  at  a  table  in  the 
comer. 

In  the  tavern  room  there  were  eight  or  ten  soldiers  itand- 


THB  RECRUIT.  49 

tug  beride  the  bar,  and  gossiping  in  a  rougli  and  loud  way  of 

things  connected  with  the  "  service." 

When  the  maiden  entered,  they  had  all  turned  towards  her, 
and  exchanged  their  remarks,  at  the  same  time  exchanging 
a  smile.  As  they  all  spoke  French  or  Walloon,  however, 
Trien  did  not  understand  what  they  said  about  her,  and 
although,  the  impudent  glances  of  the  soldiers  annoyed  her, 
she  smiled  notwithstanding,  and  said — "  Good-day  to  you  all, 
friends." 

These  soldiers  seemed  to  her  to  be  fine,  gallant  fellows, 
with  the  exception  of  one,  who  was  older  than  the  others,  and 
assumed  a  certain  superiority  over  them.  He  wore  coarse 
gloves  of  chamois  leather  ;  the  buttons  of  his  waistcoat  shone 
like  gold ;  the  military  cap  hung  over  his  left  ear,  while  his 
magnificent  moustache  was  made  to  stand  up  with  black  wax. 
He  stood  with  the  upper  part  of  his  body  bent  back,  and  his 
hand  planted  on  his  side,  like  a  perpetual  challenge.  This 
haughty  warrior  must  be  provost  of  the  regiment,  or  fencing- 
master  at  least,  thought  Trien. 

It  was  not  his  exterior  and  his  bearing  which  made  the  girl 
form  a  bad  opinion  of  him ;  but  it  was  the  shameless  way  in 
which  he  compelled  her  to  hold  down  her  eyes  before  his  im- 
pudent gaze,  and  his  appearing  to  make  jests  on  her  in  a  loud 
coarse  tone,  which  annoyed  her.  Nor  did  she  hide  what  she 
felt,  for  the  proud  rifleman  could  easily  see  from  her  face  that 
she  had  no  friendly  feelings  towards  him. 

While  both  parties  were  thus  looking  at  each  other,  the 
hostess  brought  a  glass  of  beer  to  the  maiden.  A  young 
Boldier,  with  a  mild  expression  and  friendly  eyes,  approached 
her,  put  forward  his  glass,  and  said  in  the  dialect  of  the 
Kempenland — 

"  Mieken,  let  us  touch  glasses.  You  are  certainly  from  t]i* 
Antwerp  country." 


4ft  TALES  OF  FLEMI8H  LIFB. 

**  No,  comrade,  I  am  from  the  St.  Antonie  district,  from 
Schilde  or  Magerhalle,  whichever  you  please." 

"  And  I  am  a  young  man  from  Wechel-ter-zande,  so  we 
are  neighbours." 

Joy  lighted  up  the  maiden's  countenance,  and  she  gave  the 
young  soldier  as  affectionate  a  look  as  if  she  had  found  a 
brother  in  him. 

Meanwhile,  the  other  riflemen  also  had  advanced  to  the 
table,  some  sitting  down  upon  it.  The  soldier  with  the 
bruflhed-up  moustache  sat  down  so  close  to  Trien,  that  he 
almost  touched  her. 

Trien  could  not  bear  his  mocking  and  confident  air,  and 
trembled  as  if  afraid.  She  then  seized  the  hand  of  her 
countryman,  and  begged  in  the  friendliest  way — 

"  Oh,  my  good  friend,  you  must  sit  by  me,  if  you  will  be 
00  good,  for  I  am  afraid  of  the  Walloons.  What  does  he 
suppose  that  I  am?" 

"  Bah,  bah  I"  replied  the  other,  "he  is  an  empty  braggart. 
Let  him  only  dare  to  touch  you,  and  I  will  bring  my  fist 
down  on  his  moustache,  were  he  a  hundred  times  fencing- 
master." 

Encouraged  by  these  words,  Trien  turned  to  the  mocking 
fellow,  and  said  confidently — 

"  Mr.  Soldier,  I  would  beg  you  to  sit  along  a  bit.  What 
do  yon  imagine?  what  do  you  take  me  for?" 

The  fencing-master  burst  into  a  loud  laugh,  shoving  hia 
stool  back  a  little  at  the  same  time  however,  while  he  made 
▼arious  jesting  remarks,  which  the  maiden  fortunately  did  not 
understand, 

**  Tell  me,  friend,"  said  Trien  to  her  protector,  "  what  it 
yonr  name,  if  I  may  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  ?" 

"SusCaers." 

^  Sub  Caen!    Ah,  well,  how  wonderful  I    A  fortnight  ago 


BXCBUIT.  ii 

we  sold  your  father  a  calf — a  pretty  mottled  calf.  I  have  ftfll 
■ome  of  the  money  in  my  pocket." 

"  Ay  I  and  what  is  my  father  about  ?    Is  he  Fell  ?" 

"  Quite  well — a  man  like  a  tree.  I  remember  now  he  told 
ns  that  you  also  were  in  the  anuy.  Do  you  know  our 
John?" 

"What  is  his  second  name?" 

"Braems." 

"  0  Heavens  I  as  if  I  didn't  know  John  Braems  I  "We 
were  in  the  same  company,  and  we  were  great  cronies  till  he 
took  weak  eyes." 

Deeply  affected,  the  maiden  now  seized  him  with  both  hands, 
ind  said,  with  a  deep  breath — 

"  Ah,  friend  I  how  grateful  am  I  to  my  heavenly  Father 
that  He  brought  me  into  this  tavern.  You  will  show  me 
where  I  can  find  John,  will  you  not  ?  The  young  men  from 
our  quarter  are  all  good-hearted  fellows." 

"  Certainly.  I  shall  take  you  to  the  hospital.  You  know, 
I  suppose,  that  he  is  blind?" 

"  Alas,  yes,"  sighed  Trien ;  "  but  it  is  the  hand  of  God,  and 
cannot  be  helped  now.  Many  are  the  tears  we  have  shed  over 
the  thought  of  his  calamity." 

The  soldiers  had  seen  with  a  kind  of  envy  the  sudden  in- 
timacy and  mutual  confidence  which  had  sprung  up  between 
the  Kempener  and  the  young  maid.  The  fenciug-master, 
above  all,  slid  backwards  and  forwards  on  his  stool,  and  made 
all  kinds  of  demonstrations.  In  the  meantime,  he  had  gradu- 
ally come  quite  close  to  the  girl  again,  and  even  chucked  her 
under  the  chin  in  a  familiar  way,  as  if  she  cared  in  the  least 
for  him. 

The  Fleming  started  up  and  threatened  him ;  but  Trien, 
whose  countenance  burned  with  indignation,  stood  up,  and 
with  the  flat  of  her  hand  struck  the  fencing-master  in  the  fao« 


m  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

with  sucA  right  good- will,  that  he  did  not  know  whether  hli 
head  was  off  or  on.* 

As  soon  as  he  had  recovered  from  his  confusion,  the  tavem 
became  a  fearful  scene  of  battle.  He  seized  a  jug,  and  would 
have  broken  the  girl's  head  with  it,  had  not  the  young  Kem- 
pener,  who  was  a  stronger  man,  seized  him  by  the  throat 
and  wrenched  it  out  of  his  hand.  The  other  comrades  sprang 
forwai'd  to  separate  the  combatants,  calling  out  that  the  sabre 
alone,  and  not  the  fist,  could  decide  a  soldier's  quarrel.  Trien, 
in  the  greatest  anxiety  and  trembling  with  fear,  is  compelled 
to  listen  to  a  multitude  of  coarse  and  violent  words,  while  the 
soldiers  struggling  with  one  another  tumble  about  the  room 
and  the  hostess  is  screaming  out  that  she  will  fetch  the  watch. 
Suddenly,  however,  a  sound  of  drums  is  heard  proceeding 
from  the  barracks : — 

"  Soup  I  soup  1 "  cried  those  who  took  no  part  in  the  con- 
test, and  leaving  the  others,  hastened  out  of  the  tavern. 

The  fencing-master  still  poured  forth  threats,  but  at  last 
went  out,  saying  to  the  Kempener  as  he  passed — 

"  A  ching  heures  sol  terrain  !  edj  vindrai  vos  quer{e"\ 

"  Be  it  so,  braggart  I "  replied  the  challenged  youth,  with  a 
laugh  of  mockery. 

"Ah,  Sus,  what  anxiety  have  I  suffered !'*  sighed  Trien. 
"Is  it  all  settled  now?" 

"  Settled  I  I  must  this  evening  fight  a  duel  with  that 
Bword- eater." 

"0  Heavens!  and  all  on  my  account  1"  cried  the  maiden, 
pale  and  trembling. 

*'  Do  not  annoy  yourself  about  that,  child ;  it  is  only  a  mat- 
ter for  laughter.  It  will  end  in  our  going  to  drink  together. 
That  is  the  way  the  Walloon  takes  of  getting  a  little  gin 

•  This  rather  rough  mode  of  self-defence  is  pretty  customary  among  the  peasant  gW; 
if  th«  Kampeiiland,  and  is  regarded  among  them  as  a  point  of  honour. 
t  Witt»M :  **  At  fiv*  o'dodc  on  bh«  fighting-ground.    I  will  seek  you  than.'' 


Tm  BECBurr.  4ff 

5f  he  can  get  it  into  the  bargain.  Such  things  happen 
twice  a  week  with  that  fellow,  and  it  is  known  by  everybody. 
Come  q-iickly,  and  I  shall  take  you  to  the  hospital  where 
John  Braems  is." 

Trien  paid  her  beer  and  left  the  tavern  with  the  soldier. 
He  took  her  through  several  streets,  talking  all  the  way,  and 
then  left  her  saying,  while  he  pointed  with  his  finger — 

"  Do  you  see  the  soldier  yonder,  sitting  on  a  bench  before 
the  door  of  that  large  building  ?  That  building  is  the  In- 
firmary. You  must  speak  to  the  soldier  and  he  will  let  you  in, 
if  it  is  possible  to  gain  admission.  A  safe  return  home  to  you, 
and  many  greetings  to  my  father,  if  you  chance  to  see  him." 

"  A  thousand  thousand  thanks,  my  friend,"  replied  Trien, 
as  she  left  him  and  proceeded  on  her  way  to  the  hospital. 

So  soon  as  the  maiden  found  herself  alone,  a  feeling  of  de- 
spondency took  possession  of  her,  and  she  could  scarcely  muster 
courage  to  speak  to  the  soldier  on  the  bench.  As  she  came 
nearer,  however,  a  joyful  smile  lighted  up  her  face,  for  she 
thought  she  recognised  him.  And,  in  fact,  when  yet  some 
paces  from  him,  she  called  him  by  his  name,  for  it  was  Crofter 
Tistje's  son,  Kobe,  who  had  been  made  a  corporal,  as  John  had 
written,  and  who  now  sat  here  on  the  bench  in  that  capacity. 

So  soon  as  he  saw  Trien,  he  sprang  joyfully  up,  and  has- 
tened to  her  with  pleasure  and  surprise. 

"  What  1  Trien  dear,  is  this  you  ?  Heavens  1  how  glad  I 
am  to  see  you  here  I  How  goes  everything  in  our  village  ? 
Has  my  mother  recovered  ?  How  is  Verbaet's  daughter  Loken  ? 
Do  they  know  yonder  that  I  am  a  corporal  now  ?  And  what 
did  Loken  say  when  she  heard  it?" 

"  All  is  well,"  replied  Trien.  "  Your  mother  was  at  church 
laat  Sunday ;  she  has  got  rid  of  the  fever,  and  one  can  scarcely 
see  that  she  has  been  ill.  I  myself  told  Loken,  in  patting^ 
that  yon  had  been  promoted." 


iV  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFl. 

•*  Well,  and  did  she  not  smile  with  pleajsnre  ?" 

"  No,  she  blushed  up  to  her  very  hair ;  but  she  was  so  d^ 
lighted  that  she  could  not  say  a  word :  I  could  see  that  ia 
her  eyes." 

Kobe  the  corporal  slowly  hung  his  head,  and  looked  to  the 
ground — the  expression  of  his  features  was  suddenly  altered  : 
he,  too,  felt  his  face  redden,  and  his  heart  beat  fast.  His  native 
village,  with  its  heath  and  fields ;  the  modest  glance  of  his 
beloved ;  his  mother's  affectionate  smile ;  the  Sabbath  enjoy- 
ment, after  a  long  week  of  toil ;  the  songs  under  the  linden 
trees ;  the  prattle  of  the  tame  magpies ;  the  barking  of  the 
house-dog ;  the  rustling  of  the  fir- wood  ; — all  came  before  hit 
eyes  firesh  and  living,  all  sounded  in  his  ears  with  irresistible 
sweetness,  and  he  was  lost  in  the  enchanting  contemplation 
of  the  life  for  which  he  longed. 

"What  have  I  said  then,  Kobe,  that  vexes  you?"  asked 
Trien  gently. 

"  Ah,  Trieny  dear,  I  do  not  know.  There  came  before  my 
eyes  all  at  once  our  village,  and  so  clearly,  that  I  saw  the  very 
sun  shining  on  the  church-tower.  My  father  was  busy  raking 
the  stubble  out  of  the  field ;  my  mother  stood  beside  him,  and 
I  heard  them  speaking  about  me.  I  had  quite  forgotten  my- 
ielf — but  now  it  is  over." 

"Come,  Kobe,"  said  Trien,  "lead  me  to  John  as  quickly 
as  you  can — he  will  be  so  glad  to  see  me." 

"You  know,  then,  his  misfortune?" 

"  Alas  I  yes ;  I  come  to  talk  with  him,  and  comfort  him, 
poor  fellow !  Do  not  let  me  stand  here  any  longer,  but  lead 
me  to  him  at  once." 

"  Tnen  dear,  how  sorry  I  am  for  you  1"  sighed  Kobe,  truly 
grieved. 

"And  why?"  cried  Trien.      "Ah,  Kobe,  you  make  m» 
Ha*  anything  happened  ?" 


THE  BECBUIT.  49 

•*  Unfortnnate  Trien !  *'  he  replied.  "  No  one  is  admitted  t« 
die  blind  and  diseased ;  it  is  forbidden  under  a  severe  penalty." 

The  poor  girl  uttered  a  painful  shriek,  and  covering  her  ^^ 
frith  her  apron,  she  wept  and  bewailed  her  bad  fortune. 

"  Alas  1  alas  I  four  days  have  I  walked  and  suffered,  and 
after  all  cannot  see  him.  From  this  place  I  do  not  go  alive  j 
of  that  you  may  be  certain." 

"  Trien,  you  must  not  make  such  a  noise  in  the  street," 
Baid  Kobe ;  "  otherwise  people  will  collect  round  you  to  gape 
and  stare.     Be  quiet,  if  you  can." 

The  maiden  dried  her  tears,  with  a  mingled  expression  of 
courage  and  despair,  and  exclaimed — 

"  If  I  have  to  break  into  this  house  as  a  thief,  and  were  a 
sabre  to  pierce  my  heart,  I  will  see  him,  and  speak  with  him 
— ^let  them  prevent  me  if  they  can." 

"  Listen,  Trien  dear,"  said  the  corporal  gently ;  "  I  may 
perhaps  lose  my  place  by  it,  but  I  will  help  you,  for  all  that. 
Keep  quiet,  and  act  as  if  you  knew  nothing.  The  sergeant 
is  just  going  with  the  report  to  the  governor ;  the  doctor  has 
been  there  already ;  and  the  director  is  unwell,  and  will  not 
come  into  the  sick- ward.  When  the  sergeant  is  gone,  I  will 
bring  you  quietly  into  the  blind-room.  But,  Trien,  if  I  am 
put  in  the  lock-up,  and  lose  my  rank,  then  remember  to  tell 
Loken  and  mother  that  it  was  owing  to  friendship  and  pity, 
and  not  from  any  misconduct." 

"  Be  sure  of  that,  Kobe,"  replied  the  girl,  with  moist  eyes ; 
**  I  will  be  grateful  to  you  all  my  life  long ;  let  me  only  do 
what  I  wish  now,  and  Loken  shall  write  you  a  letter  when  I 
get  home  again." 

"  Ah,  she  can't  write,  Trien,"  sighed  the  corporal. 

"  But  /  can,"  she  rejoined  ;  "  and  I  will  do  it  for  her ;  and 
I  will  set  down  such  delightful  things  that  you  wil  actaally 
leap  with  joy." 


fO  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

*  Do  you  see,  Trien,  I  do  not  stand  liere  as  sentinel ;  I  MB 
PlantoTiy  and  am  forbidden  to  speak  with  any  one.  Como^ 
sit  down  on  that  bench,  and  take  no  notice  of  anything,  till 
the  sergeant  has  passed  out.  I  shall  say  that  you  are  my 
sister,  otherwise  he  will  thwart  our  plans.  Let  us  talk  a  'bit| 
meanwhile,  of  our  friends  at  home.  Is  Ned,  the  brewer's  son, 
married  yet  to  farmer  Dierikx's  dairy-maid?  Is  the  filly, 
which  we  sold  to  the  landlord  at  the  *  Crown,'  grown  a  fine 
horse?" 

They  sat  down  on  the  bench,  purposely  at  some  distance 
from  each  other,  and  began  to  chat  about  the  absent. 

Within  the  hospital,  there  was  a  room  set  apart  for  those 
with  diseased  eyes,  its  windows  securely  covered  with  shut- 
ters of  green  paper,  so  that  not  a  ray  of  light  could  enter.  To 
those  who  could  see,  it  was  a  horrible  place  ;  for  a  shade  of 
light,  gloomier  than  the  deepest  black,  threw  a  painful  colour- 
ing over  everything,  oppressing  the  heart  of  the  spectator 
with  mingled  sadness  and  fear.  It  could  be  called  neither 
light  Dor  darkness ;  and  it  was  necessary  to  accustom  one's- 
Belf  to  the  green  and  deathlike  day,  before  any  object  could 
be  distinguished.  In  addition,  there  reigned  throughout 
this  abode  of  affliction  the  stillness  of  death,  only  broken 
from  time  to  time  by  a  cry  of  pain,  when  the  eyes  of  some 
poor  patient  were  being  burnt  with  caustic.  Along  the 
walls  on  wooden  benches  sat  the  blind  and  diseased,  like 
a  row  of  spectres,  motionless  and  silent  in  the  darkness. 
Each  had  on  a  large  green  shade,  which  so  entirely  covered 
the  brow  and  face,  that  the  features  could  not  be  distin- 
guished. 

In  the  furthest  comer  sat  John  Braems  with  sunken  head, 
iadly  dreaming  of  things  which  he  loved,  and  should  never 
9M  again.     Under  the  green  shade,  a  quiet  smile  played  rooiid 


THE  BECBUIT.  51 

his  mouth,  while  his  lips  moved,  as  if  he  were  conversing  with 
some  invisible  beings.  He  had  just  conjured  up  the  image  of 
his  darling  friend,  and  made  her  whisper  in  his  ear  once 
more  the  modest  confession  of  her  love,  when  an  almost 
inaudible  noise  was  suddenly  heard  upon  the  stairs.  He 
seemed  to  hear  his  name  mentioned.  All  trembling,  he 
sprang  from  his  seat,  as  if  moved  by  some  invisible  hand,  and 
sighed  involuntarily,  "  Trien  I  Trienl" 

The  door  was  opened  from  without,  and  the  maiden,  accom- 
panied by  the  corporal,  stood  on  the  threshold.  Trien  shud- 
dered as  she  looked  into  the  dark  chamber,  and  saw  rows  of 
■pectre-like  shadows  all  masked  with  green  shades.  She  drew 
back  with  a  cry  of  alarm  ;  but  John  Braems  had  recognised 
her  voice,  and  advanced  with  outstretched  hands,  groping 
his  way  towards  her.  She  perceived  her  unfortunate  friend, 
and  hastening  up  to  him,  fell  weeping  on  his  neck.  For  a 
time  nothing  was  heard  but  "Trienl"  "John I"  uttered  in 
tones  of  love,  sympathy,  and  sorrow.  The  maiden  lay  weep- 
ing on  the  young  man's  breast,  and  seemed  at  last  to  have 
fainted  with  her  emotion ;  for  her  head  lay  on  one  side,  and 
her  hands  hung  powerless  from  her  lover's  shoulders. 

Meanwhile  the  rest  of  the  blind  had  collected  in  a  circle 
round  the  girl,  and  were  feeling  her,  as  if  they  too  might  per- 
chance recognise  some  friend.  Their  touches  awoke  her  out 
of  hei  forge tfulness,  and  drawing  back,  half  afraid,  she  said 
with  alarm — 

"  Heavens !  John  dear,  what  is  all  this  ?  Tell  them  to 
let  me  alone,  otherwise  I  can't  stay  here." 

*  Don't  be  afraid,  Trien,"  replied  John;  "it  is  nothing. 
The  blind  see  with  their  fingers.  They  are  feeling  your 
clothes;  and  find  out  in  that  way  from  what  quarter  yoa 
come.     They  mean  no  harm." 

"  Ah,  poor  fellows  I "  sighed  Trien,  "  fdnce  that  i«  the  rB» 


5t  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LDS. 

son,  I  forgive  them  with  all  my  heart ;  but  I  don't  like  h 
much.  Let  us  go  into  that  dark  comer  and  sit  down  on  the 
bench,  John ;  I  have  so  much  to  say  to  you." 

With  these  words,  she  led  her  friend  to  the  bench,  and  sat 
down  beside  him,  holding  his  hands  in  hers. 

The  conversation  which  now  began  must  have  been  very 
moving,  though  almost  inaudible;  for  joy,  sorrow,  smiles, 
and  tears,  often  succeeded  each  other  on  Trien's  face;  and 
from  time  to  time,  one  might  see  her  press  John's  hands  with 
deep  feeling.  She  was,  without  doubt,  endeavouring  to  in- 
fuse the  balsam  of  consolation  into  the  unfortunate  man's 
heart,  for  the  few  sounds  of  her  voice  which  one  could  catch 
were  as  tender  and  impressively  sweet  as  the  sweetest  tones 
of  some  love-song.  John  had  pushed  the  shade  higher  up  on 
his  brow,  and  on  his  countenance  there  was  visible  a  peculiar 
expression  of  dreamy  attention,  and  at  the  same  time  of  sad- 
ness and  despair,  like  one  listening  out  of  the  abyss  of  suffer- 
ing to  words  which  cannot  make  him  forget  his  sorrow, 
though  they  may  delude  him  for  a  moment  with  imaginary 
happiness. 

The  blind  stood  round  them  in  silence,  and  listened  atten- 
tively to  catch  what  they  were  saying,  and  pick  up  some  of 
those  consolatory  sounds.  The  corporal  remained  outside 
the  door,  marching  up  and  down,  and  every  now  and  then 
putting  his  head  into  the  room  to  see  if  Trien  was  ready  to 
leave.  Suddenly  he  grew  pale,  and  intense  fear  was  depicted 
on  his  face, — he  saw  the  sergeant  ascending  the  stairs. 
Without  making  any  remark,  he  opened  the  door  and  ad- 
mitted him  into  the  blind-room,  following  him  with  sunkcL 
head,  and  a  look  of  conscious  guilt,  like  a  malefactor  who 
awaits  his  sentence.  Scarcely  had  the  sergeant  perceived  the 
girl,  when  he  broke  out  into  a  storm  of  angry  words,  and  at 
last  taming  to  the  corporal,  said — 


mi.  RECSUIT.  ftS 

"Ha!  and  bo  you  have  admitted  a  stranger — and  a  wo- 
man too !  I'll  not  be  long  of  relieving  you  of  your  duties, 
my  good  fellow,  and  getting  fourteen  days  from  the  Govemoi 
for  you.  It  will  not  be  my  fault,  I  can  tell  you,  if  you  retain 
your  corporal's  dress." 

Trien  rose  and  said  imploringly  to  the  enraged  sergeant — 

"  Oh,  sir,  be  pitiful  I  I  alone  am  to  blame,  for  having  pre- 
vailed upon  him  with  my  tears  to  admit  me.  Do  him  no 
harm  for  having  been  so  kind-hearted" — 

The  sergeant  shook  his  head  impatiently,  and  prevented 
her  from  adding  more. 

"What  has  all  that  to  do  with  the  matter?"  he  inter- 
rupted. "  I  know  my  duty,  and  what  I  have  to  do ;  and  you, 
Mieken,  out  at  once,  and  that  quickly  too  I " 

The  maiden  was  grieved  and  surprised  when  she  heard  this 
order ;  he  seemed  to  be  in  earnest,  however,  and  she  went  all 
trembling  up  to  him,  and  entreated — 

"  Ah  I  gi-ant  me,  I  beseech  you,  only  one  half  hour  I  I 
will  often  pray  to  God  for  you,  and  kiss  your  hand  with  joy." 

"  Come,  come,  make  an  end  of  this  stupid  game,"  snarled 
the  sergeant ;  "  not  one  minute  longer  I" 

"  But  oh,  sir,"  cried  the  distracted  Trien,  "  I  have  come  on 
toot  all  the  way  from  the  other  end  of  the  land  to  bring  com- 
fort to  our  unfortunate  John,  poor  fellow,  and  you  will  not, 
surely,  drive  me  out.  I  have  scarcely  spoken  with  him 
yet." 

"Are  you  going,  or  are  you  not?"  said  the  sergeant,  add- 
mg  a  few  coarse  threats,  which  made  her  tremble. 

The  tears  gushed  out  of  the  maiden's  eyes ;  she  raised  her 
folded  hands  to  the  sergeant,  and  sobbed  out — 

"  For  God's  sake,  friend,  only  one  quarter  of  an  hour  1  Do 
not  kill  mel  Have  compassion  on  a  poor  blind  man;  it 
may  happen  to  you  too.    Would  it  not  tear  your  hftart  then^ 


M  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  UFB. 

if  your  mother  or  your  sister  were  to  be  hunted  away  Iflt©  a 
dog  ?  Ah,  sir  1  take  pity  on  us ;  all  my  life  long  I  will  lor© 
you  for  it." 

John  and  the  other  blind  men,  who  were  all  angry  at  the  ser- 
geant's severity,  urged  the  maiden's  petition,  and  the  whole 
room  was  in  confusion,  as  if  the  blind  were  rebelling  against 
their  inexorable  overseer.  This  only  enraged  him  the  more ;  he 
threatened  to  put  all  on  bread  and  water,  and  suddenly  seizing 
Trien  by  the  arm,  was  about  to  drag  her  forcibly  out  of  the 
room.  She,  however,  perceived  his  intention,  and  tearing 
herself  loose,  ran  weeping  to  John,  whom  she  embraced, 
with  loud  lamentations.  As  deeply  grieved  as  she,  but  yet 
convinced  that  nothing  could  prevent  their  separation,  the 
young  man  tried  to  console  her,  and  hastily  said  to  her  a  mul- 
titude of  things  which  had  been  forgotten  during  their  quiet 
conversation.  The  sergeant,  however,  was  not  slow  in  follow- 
ing her,  and  had  again  laid  hold  of  her  arm.  He  attempted 
to  tear  her  from  John,  but  the  sorrowing  girl  kept  her  arms 
locked  round  her  blind  friend  like  an  iron  band,  and  resisted 
the  sergeant's  violence  with  determination;  whereupon  he 
called  out  to  Kobe,  who  was  standing  in  perplexity  at  the 
door — 

"  Corporal,  what  are  you  doing  standing  there  ?  Come 
here  ;  I  command  you  to  turn  that  peasant  wcman  out  of  the 
door,  or  you  will  pay  dearly  for  it.     Do  you  hesitate  ?" 

Kobe  approached  the  girl,  and,  taking  her  arm,  said — 

"  Trien  dear,  I  am  very  sorry  ;  but  it  can't  be  helped.  3o 
out  peaceably,  otherwise  they  will  throw  you  down  stairs. 
Such  is  the  order ;  the  sergeant  must  do  what  his  duty  com*- 
mands." 

Trien  separated  herself  from  her  friend,  and  holding  up  her 
bead  with  quiet  dignity,  she  advanced  to  the  sergeant,  and 
•aid-- 


THE  RECBUIT.  W 

"Mr.  Overseer,  I  will  go;  but,  friend,  forgive  m©  and 
Kobe  also ;  it  will  be  well  done,  and  God  will  certainly  re- 
ward yoa.  You  have  a  heart  in  you  as  well  as  others ;  and  all 
men  in  this  world  are  brothers.  You  will  be  so  good  as  to 
forget,  Mr.  Sergeant,  will  you  not  ?  I  will  remember  you  in 
my  prayers." 

The  wrath  of  the  sergeant  was  appeased  when  he  saw  hia 
commands  humbly  obeyed;  the  sweet  voice  and  expressive 
blue  eyes  of  the  maiden  also  had  touched  his  heart,  and  he 
replied,  in  a  more  kindly  tone — 

"  Now,  then,  only  go  out  without  further  delay ;  and  if  the 
fault  is  concealed,  I  shall  say  nothing  about  it,  and  forgive  it 
out  of  compassion  for  you." 

"  Ah,  you  kind  man  ! "  cried  Trien  ;  "  I  knew  it ;  you 
speak  Flemish,  like  ourse-lvpa  ''-go  in  a  moment — only  one 
farewell  I" 

She  once  aore  cmoraced  the  unhappy  blind  man,  who 
speechlessly  received  her  farewell  kiss — murmured  in  his  ear 
a  few  consoling  words,  and  then  walked  to  the  door  weeping 
and  sobbing.  There  she  turned  her  head,  and  uttering  a 
piercing  cry,  endeavoured  to  return,  struggling  with  the 
sergeant,  who,  however,  now  held  her  fast.  The  truth 
was,  she  had  seen  that  her  unfortunate  friend  had  fallen  to 
the  ground,  and  lay  as  if  lifeless,  with  his  head  upon  the 
bench,  and  the  sight  of  this  excited  her  to  such  a  degree  that 
she  trembled  with  anxiety  and  grief,  and  struggled  wildly 
with  the  sergeant  to  free  herself.  He  dragged  her  out,  how- 
ever, and  shut  the  door  behind  him. 

Exhausted,  powerless,  and  almost  dying  with  despair — 
obedient  as  a  martyr,  and  almost  unconscious — she  walked 
down  stairs  and  into  the  open  court,  between  the  sergeant 
and  the  corporal.  Here,  she  let  herself  be  pushed  and 
dragged  along;  for  her  feet  refrised  the  motion  which  wai 


of  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFl. 

to  distance  her  from  John.  She  did  not  speak  a  word ;  iha 
qniet  tears  which  streamed  over  her  cheeks  was  the  only  sign 
of  her  sorrow. 

At  the  threshold  of  one  of  the  doors  which  opened  into  the 
front  court,  stood  a  richly-dressed  lady,  with  noble  features. 
She  beheld  the  weeping  girl  from  a  distance,  and  seemed 
desirous  to  know  what  had  happened.  The  nearer  they  ap- 
proached her  on  their  way  to  the  gate,  the  more  strongly  did 
her  countenance  express  a  deep  concern  and  sympathy, 

Trien  observed  it,  and  a  ray  of  hope  entered  her  breast.  It 
did  not  escape  Kobe,  for  he  whispered  to  her — 

"  That  is  the  wife  of  the  governor  of  the  hospital ;  and  oh, 
so  good  and  kind  I     She  is  from  Antwerp." 

The  girl  now  made  haste,  as  if  she  were  eager  to  reach  the 
gate ;  but  as  she  approached  the  richly-clad  lady,  she  turned 
round  and  threw  herself  on  her  knees  before  her  with  out- 
stretched arms,  crying  out — 

"  Ah,  lady,  help  I — pity,  for  a  poor  blind  man  1" 

The  lady  seemed  surprised  and  perplexed  by  this  unex- 
pected appeal.  For  a  short  time,  she  looked  at  the  young 
peasant  girl,  who  held  her  beautiful  blue  eyes  fixed  upon  her 
as  if  in  earnest  supplication,  at  the  same  time  smiling  hope- 
fully through  her  tears,  as  if  already  thanking  her  for  a  bene- 
fit received.  She  took  Trien  by  both  hands,  raised  her  up, 
and  said,  with  a  friendly  voice — 

"  Poor  girl  I  Come  in,  my  dear  child  I  what  is  it  that 
troubles  you?" 

With  these  words,  and  without  looking  at  the  sergeant, 
who  put  his  hand  politely  to  his  forehead,  she  led  Trien  into 
the  house,  and  pushed  forward  a  chair  for  her  to  sit  upoa. 

In  the  room,  she  found  an  officer  of  the  Rifles,  who  stood 
before  a  desk  writing.  He  raised  his  eyes  from  his  work,  and 
looked  at  the  weeping  maid  curiouslj'  and  sympathiiinglj, 


THB  RECBVIT.  #f 

but  waited,  withont  making  any  observation,  to  get  an  ex- 
planation of  the  matter. 

The  lady — she  was  the  officer's  wife — again  took  Trien'i 

hand,  and  said — 

"  Come,  come,  my  girl,  be  comforted  ;  no  harm  shall  hap- 
pen to  you.  Tell  me  what  terrifies  yon  so  much ;  if  it  be 
possible,  I  will  help  you." 

"  Ah,  lady  I "  sighed  Trien,  while  she  kissed  warmly  her 
protector's  hand.  "  God  will  bless  you  for  your  kindness.  I 
am  a  poor  peasant  girl  from  between  St.  Antonis  and  Mager- 
halle  in  the  Kempenland.  The  lot  fell  upon  our  John,  and  he 
had  to  be  a  soldier.  Four  days  ago  he  wrote  to  his  mother, 
saying  that  he  had  sore  eyes ;  but  to  me  privately  he  wrote 
that  he  was  blind  for  his  whole  life.  I  lay  for  two  hours  as  if 
dead,  under  an  oak-tree.  I  did  not  venture  to  tell  his  mother 
the  truth,  for  fear  she  should  die  of  grief.  On  the  next  day, 
early  in  the  morning,  I  set  out  barefoot,  without  knowing  the 
road,  to  walk  from  our  village  to  Venloo.  I  asked  my  way ; 
often  wandered  from  it,  and  made  long  roundabouts  ;  sufiered 
shame  and  pain  enough  ;  walked  night  and  day,  with  scarcely 
any  food  or  drink,  till  the  blood  dropt  from  my  feet.  After 
I  had  suffered  three  days,  like  a  stray  sheep,  I  arrived  here. 
A  young  man  from  our  village,  who  is  corporal,  let  me  into 
the  hospital  out  of  compassion.  I  saw  our  John  with  his  eyes 
all  gone,  and  was  just  comforting  him,  when  the  sergeant  came 
and  drove  me  out.  Now  I  shall  not  see  John  again  ;  I  muBt 
leave  him,  poor  fellow,  without  consolation ;  and  oh  lady  I  I 
cannot,  cannot  do  that.  Pray  think,  if  you  will  be  so  good, 
what  I  have  endured  to  come  here  ;  and  have  compassion  with 
the  innocent  lamb  who  wastes  and  pines  away  with  grief  yon- 
der in  the  dark  room." 

*^Uh^  your  brother  ? "  asked   the  officer  behind   th* 


99  TALES  OP  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

The  maiden  hung  her  head  to  conceal  the  blush  which  gol- 
ftised  her  countenance  at  this  question. 

After  a  short  silence,  she  raised  her  eyes  and  said — 

"  Sir,  I  am  not  his  sister ;  but  from  childhood  we  have 
dwelt  under  the  same  roof ;  his  parents  are  mine ;  he  loves 
my  mother ;  his  grandfatner  hB»  carried  me  before  I  could 
walk ;  labour,  gains,  joy,  and  sorrow,  all, — we  have  had  i» 
common," 

After  a  pause,  she  again  looked  down,  and  said  in  a  lowei 
tone — 

"  Since  he  has  met  with  this  misfortune,  I  too  feel  that  I 
am  not  his  sister  I " 

Moved  by  the  girl's  words,  the  officer  had  left  the  desk,  and 
gradually  approached  Trien. 

"Poor  child!"  sighed  the  lady;  "you  must  drive  the 
thought  out  of  your  mind,  and  try  to  console  yourself.  You 
cannot  continue  to  love  a  blind  man'?" 

Trien  trembled,  for  this  wounded  her  deeply. 

"  Forsake  him  I "  she  cried  ;  "  forget  him  because  he  is  to 
be  for  life  blind  and  miserable  1  Oh,  lady !  be  so  good  as 
not  to  say  that  again ;  it  cuts  my  heart  like  a  knife." 

A  fresh  stream  of  tears  flowed  from  her  eyes. 

The  officer  exchanged  some  words  in  French  with  his  wife. 
He  told  her  that  a  ministerial  order  had  come  which  gave  the 
colonels  power  to  send  the  blind  soldiers  to  their  homes,  with 
unlimited  leave  of  absence — there  to  wait  for  a  final  dis- 
charge from  service.  Although  this  measure  was  not  to  be 
brought  into  operation  for  some  weeks,  he  was  yet  ready 
to  make  an  attempt  with  the  colonel  to  get  an  excep- 
tion made  in  favour  of  the  peasant  girl's  unhappy  friend, 
and  to  procure  him  his  leave  of  absence  on  that  very  day. 
His  wife  urged  him  to  execute  this  plan.  Trien  did  not 
understand  what  they  said,  but  she  could   perceive  that 


THE  SECRUIT.  99 

her  protector  was  urging  her  husband  to  some  gc-:d  deed, 

•nd  the  half- consoled  girl  nodded  her  head  beseechingly,  m* 
if  she  would  thereby  encourage  him  to  his  benevolent  under- 
taking. 

The  officer  turned  to  her,  and  asked — 

"Would  you  be  glad  if  your  friend  returned  home  with 
you?" 

An  indescribable  expression  of  mingled  joy  and  anxiety 
lighted  up  Trien's  countenance.  Her  great  wide-opened  eyes 
seemed  to  wish  to  draw  more  words  out  of  the  officer's  mouth. 
At  last  her  feelings  found  vent — 

"  Be  glad  1  be  happy  I "  she  cried.  "  The  very  question 
almost  makes  me  mad.  Oh,  sir,  sir,  do  not  delude  me  with 
such  a  hope  I  I  would  creep  in  the  dust  before  you,  and  kiss 
your  feet  with  gratitude." 

The  officer  quickly  seized  his  cap,  buckled  on  his  sabre, 
and  went  out  with  the  words — 

"  Keep  up  your  spirits,  my  girl  I  Perhaps  I  shall  succeed. 
At  any  rate,  you  shall  see  John  again  to-morrow,  I'll  take 
care  of  that." 

Some  unintelligible  sounds  of  thankfulness  followed  the 
officer  to  the  front  court,  and  then  Trien  began  earnestly  to 
thank  her  benefactress ;  but  the  lady  did  not  give  her  time  to 
speak  out  all  the  feeling  with  which  her  heart  overflowed. 
She  went  to  the  kitchen,  and  returned  with  a  maid,  who 
placed  a  little  table  before  Trien  with  meat,  bread,  and  beer, 
and  said  to  her — 

"  Eat  and  drink,  my  girl  I  from  my  heart  I  give  it." 

"  Ah  I  I  know  that  well,  my  lady,"  sighed  Trien ;  "  but 
A jW  have  I  deserved  so  much  kindness  ?  You  act  as  if  you 
were  my  mother.     May  God  reward  you  I" 

"  Is  it  long  since  you  ate  anything?"  asked  the  lady. 

•*  I  have  eaten  nothing  since  three  o'clock  this  3iamin|^,'' 


¥>  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

Baid  Trien,  enjoying  the  food  with  genuine  appetite.  I  haT» 
walked  seven  hours ;  but  now  I  thank  the  mercifiil  God  in  all 
my  grief,  that  He  has  made  you  so  good,  my  lady." 

For  a  long  time  Trien  evinced  her  gratitude,  and  for  long  the 
noble-minded  lady  consoled  her  with  sweet  and  sisterly  words, 
for  the  oflBcer  did  not  return  for  two  hours.  By  this  time 
Trien  had  related  the  whole  history  of  her  life,  and  spoken  with 
deep  attachment  of  the  beautiful  and  much-loved  Kempen- 
land,  where  soul  and  body  are  pure  as  the  air  of  the  sandy  plain, 
where  the  odour  of  simplicity  and  honesty  breathes  round  every 
feeling  of  the  soul — just  as  the  ever-blooming  flowers  of  the 
heath  are  bathed  every  morning  in  rich  and  balmy  vapours. 
The  lady  found  an  inward  pleasure  in  this  peasant  maiden, 
whose  artless  talk  betokened  an  intelligent  mind,  and  richly 
gifted  heart.  More  than  once  had  Trien  stirred  her  soul  and 
made  her  eyes  sparkle  with  emotion. 

While  she  was  sitting  there  waiting,  and  talking  of  a 
country  life,  the  officer  had  returned,  and  gone  up  into  the 
blind-room  with  the  sergeant.  After  staying  some  time  there, 
he  had  come  down  again  into  the  court,  accompanied  by 
John,  who,  with  knapsack  on  back  and  staff  in  hand,  was 
led  by  the  sergeant  to  the  door  of  the  officer's  house.  Here 
the  latter  took  the  blind  man's  hand,  and  said  to  him  as  he 
opened  the  door — 

"  Trien  is  within ;  she  waits  for  you." 

John  drew  a  paper  from  his  breast-pocket,  and  holding  it 
np  above  his  head,  cried  with  a  joyful  shout — 

"  Trien,  dear  Trien  I  I  may  go  home  with  you.  I  need  b« 
a  soldier  no  more ;  here  is  my  discharge  I " 

"  What  he  says  is  true,"  observed  the  officer,  who  perceived 
that  Trien  did  not  dare  to  believe  it. 

Meanwhfle,  John  entered  the  room  with  outstretched  arms ; 
but  Trien  did  not  run  to  meet  him.    The  poor  girl,  OT«r- 


THE  RECSUIT.  #1 

powered  by  thia  unexpected  kindness,  sank  from  her  chaii 
upon  her  knees,  and  crept  in  that  attitnde  to  her  benefactress, 
who  eat  at  a  little  distance  from  her  on  a  sofa.  With  out- 
spread arms  and  many  tears,  and  gazing  with  gratitude  into 
her  eyes,  the  maiden  said — 

"  Oh,  my  lady !  if  you  do  not  go  to  heaven,  who  then  can 
hope  for  blessedness?  I  cannot  speak  I  Ah  I  my  heart  ii 
breaking — I  shall  die  of  joy  I     Thanks  I  thanks!" 

In  fact,  she  let  her  head  sink  powerless  into  the  lady's  lap, 
and  embraced  her  knees  in  silence.  All  of  a  sudden  she 
awoke  out  of  this  deep  emotion,  sprang  up,  and  threw  herself 
with  loud  expressions  of  joy,  in  which  nothing  but  the  young 
man's  name  could  be  distinguished,  into  the  arms  of  the 
blind  soldier. 


After  they  had  quite  exhausted  their  expressions  of  joy  and 
gratitude,  Trien  and  John  left  the  hospital,  accompanied  by 
the  good  wishes  of  their  benefactors. 


It  was  a  strange  and  interesting  sight  to  see,  walking 
through  the  streets  of  Venloo,  this  blooming  peasant  girl 
leading  the  blind  soldier  by  the  hand.  The  passers-by  stood 
still  to  look  at  them — attracted,  not  so  much  by  the  appear- 
ance of  the  unfortunate  youth  with  his  knapsack  on  his  back 
and  the  green  shade  over  his  eyes,  as  by  the  inexplicable  ex- 
pression of  pride  and  joy  which  gave  to  the  young  girl's 
countenance  an  expression  at  once  noble  and  wondrously 
beautiful.  The  good  Trien  was  so  happy,  so  proud  at  the 
unexpected  result  of  her  self-sacrifice  and  determination,  that 
she  stepped  forward  with  elated  head  and  exulting  mien,  far 
too  happy  to  cast  down  her  eyes  before  the  curious  looki  of 
Lhe  wondering  citizens. 

8he  was  in  great  haste  to  leave  the  city,  and  urged  Horn 


VI  TALKS  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

blind  man  to  walk  quickly.  The  unlooked-for  success  had 
surprised  and  astounded  her .  even  yet  she  could  scarcely 
believe  it,  and  felt  at  intervals  an  anxious  shudder  creep  ovei 
her,  with  the  fear  that  \t  was  still  possible  for  some  one  to 
tear  her  friend  from  her. 

At  Hst  she  gained  the  city  gate ;  she  saw  the  free  fields 
stretching  away  towards  the  distant  horizon,  and  over  these 
ky  the  way  to  her  village.  Now  for  the  first  time  a  loud 
cry  of  joy  burst  from  her  lips ;  she  turned  her  eyes  thank- 
ftilly  towards  heaven,  and  exclaimed  with  a  sweet  rapture— 

^  Kow,  Johxi,  oome ;  now  we  are  free  V 


CHAPTER  V. 

It  was  still  oppressively  hot,  thongh  the  shadows  of  the 
trees  were  now  considerably  lengthened.  Over  heath  and 
field  still  hovered  the  transparent  summer  air:  no  breeze 
whispered  among  the  foliage ;  the  birds  sat  panting  and  still 
among  the  motionless  leaves ;  every  voice  of  nature  was  silent ; 
80  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  neither  man  nor  beast  was 
visible ;  the  earth  seemed  to  have  fallen  asleep  with  weariness. 

By  the  side  of  a  solitary  road,  overhung  by  the  branches  ot 
some  young  oaks,  lay  a  soldier  asleep,  with  his  head  on  his 
■mapsack.  His  feet  were  bare,  and  his  shoes  lay  on  the 
ground  near  him.  A  young  peasant  girl  sat  by  his  side,  with 
her  anxious  look  fixed  on  him,  while  with  a  birch  twig  she 
drove  the  flies  &om  his  face  and  feet,  and  maintained  the 
deepest  silence. 

The  soldier  lay  on  a  bed  of  wild  thyme,  which  emitted  its 
sweet  odours  round  him,  while  the  blue-bell  bent  its  little 
cups  over  his  brow;  lower  down,  beside  his  feet,  the  azure 
gentian  raised  to  him  its  beautiful  petals.  He  must  have 
already  slept  long,  for  his  companion  looked  uneasily  to- 
wards the  sun,  as  if  she  would  ipeasure  by  the  progress 
of  heaven's  torch  how  far  the  day  was  spent.  Perhaps 
her  sadness  had  another  cause.  In  truth,  she  was  vexed  to 
perceive  that  the  sun  had  turned  round  the  comer  of  the 
oak  wood,  and  was  already  casting  some  of  iti  beami  in  foil 


64  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  UFE. 

glow  on  thd  vody  of  the  sleeper.  Her  annoyance  increased. 
She  rose,  and  endeavoured  to  bend  the  young  oak  branchei 
and  bind  them  together,  to  form  a  thicker  shade  overhead  is 
protect  the  soldier's  repose  ;  but  she  soon  gave  up  this,  as  the 
sun  seemed  to  fall  on  the  roadside  almost  horizontally.  Ad- 
vancing softly,  and  with  the  greatest  caution,  she  crept  into  the 
bush  and  cut  off  two  long  straight  twigs,  and  placing  herself 
before  the  soldier  and  looking  at  the  sun  as  if  making  a  cal- 
culation, she  stuck  both  sticks  beside  him  in  the  earth.  She 
next  took  her  apron,  and  hung  it  like  a  broad  wall  of  shade 
before  his  face,  and  then  sat  down  again  with  an  expression 
of  satisfaction.  For  a  considerable  time  she  looked  at  him 
as  he  slept,  and  watched  his  breathing,  as  if  she  would  count 
the  very  pulsations  of  his  heart.  She  could  not  see  his  eyes, 
for  a  green  shade  concealed  them. 

At  last  the  soldier  moved,  groped  anxiously  round  him,  and 
stretching  out  his  hands,  called  out  with  a  voice  of  alarm — 

"Trien!  TrienI  where  are  you?" 

The  maiden  took  his  hand — 

"Here  I  am,  John.  Compose  yourselfl  You  are  trem- 
bling; what  is  the  matter?" 

"  Oh  I  I  dreamt  that  you  had  left  me,"  replied  the  youn^ 
man,  sitting  up.  "  Heavens  I  what  a  fearful  dream  I  Th^ 
cold  sweat  still  breaks  from  me  when  I  think  of  it." 

"What  could  make  you  think  such  a  thing  as  that?"  ob» 
served  the  girl  with  a  kind  of  good-humoured  indignation. 
"  Only,  it  is  so  much  the  better  that  you  hare  dreamt  it,  John ; 
it  is  a  sure  sign  that  I  shall  not  leave  you, — dreams  always 
go  by  contraries." 

"  It  is  true,  dearest,"  said  the  soldier,  pressing  her  hands. 
"  God  will  reward  you  in  heaven  for  all  this." 

Meanwhile,  Trien  had  unbuckled  the  straps  of  the  knap- 
isoky  and  taken  oat  a  piece  of  bread  and  meat.     She  cut  ths 


THE  REcsurr.  6ft 

bread  into  little  bits,  laid  them  on  the  thyme,  and  then 
covered  them  with  meat ;  at  the  same  time  saying  aflfection- 
ately — 

"  How  are  you  now,  John  ?  Are  you  rested  ?  Has  your 
sleep  refreshed  you  ?" 

"  I  am  no  longer  weary,  Trien  dear ;  but,  1  ^o  not  know 
how  it  is,  that  hateful  dream  makes  me  quite  melancholy." 

"  Oh,  that  will  soon  go  away,  John ;  it  comes  from  sleeping 
on  the  hard  ground.     Will  you  eat  something?" 

"  Yes,  Trien,  I  feel  hungry." 

The  girl  put  the  bits  of  bread  and  meat  one  after  the  other 
into  his  hand.  While  he  silently  took  the  proffered  food,  she 
remarked  a  peculiar  expression  of  dejection  and  trouble  on  his 
face.  Believing,  however,  that  the  uneasy  sleep  was  the  only 
cause  of  this  apparent  melancholy,  she  made  no  attempt  to 
enliven  his  spirits,  but  so  soon  as  she  had  given  him  the  last 
bit  of  bread,  she  drew  on  his  stockings  and  shoes,  and  pre- 
pared to  resume  their  journey.  The  soldier  picked  up  the 
knapsack,  but  the  girl  took  it  from  him. 

"  No,  no,  Trien,"  he  said,  "  let  me  carry  it  now,  I  entreat 
you :  you  weary  yourself  too  much.  It  is  not  proper,  besides, 
that  a  young  girl  should  walk  with  a  knapsack  on  her  back ; 
it  must  already  look  singular  enough  to  see  a  peasant  maid 
travelling  with  a  blind  soldier.  What  will  people  think  of  it  ?" 

"  Why  should  people's  opinions  trouble  us,  John  ?  You, 
who  can't  see,  suffer  a  hundred  times  more  fatigue  than  I  do, 
for  you  are  always  making  false  steps.  Besides,  you  are  far 
from  being  well  and  strong  yet.  The  knapsack  is  nothing 
to  me." 

So  saying,  she  took  it  again  upon  her  back,  and  being  now 
ready  to  set  out,  led  the  soldier  into  the  middle  of  the  road, 
putting  a  staff  into  his  hand  and  fastening  the  other  end  on 
her  shoulder,  that  the  blind  man  might  walk  Becurely  in  hef 
iBofciriept.    When  setting  out,  ihe  laid— 


M  TALES  OF  FLEMI8H  Un. 

•*  Should  I  walk  too  quickly,  dear  John,  you  must  tell  xub. 
And  let  us  talk  a  little  as  we  go ;  it  will  shorten  the  way." 

As  she  received  no  answer,  she  turned  round,  but  without 
■topping,  and  said  to  her  companion — 

"John,  you  should  not  hang  your  head  in  that  way ;  it 
fetigues  your  chest." 

The  young  man  silently  raised  his  head ;  but  After  a  few 
steps,  let  it  sink  again.  He  was  evidently  lost  in  earnest 
thought:  80  Trien  saw;  but  although  anxiety  was  expressed 
in  her  features,  she  said  in  a  clear  cheerful  tone  as  if  she 
would  rouse  him  out  of  his  despondency — 

"  Oh,  John,  to-morrow  evening  we  shall  be  home !  That 
will  be  glorious  1  Your  poor  mother  thinks  that  you  are  stiU 
pining  away  in  the  dark  sick-room.  How  happy  she  will  be 
and  with  what  joy  she  will  embrace  you  again  I  And  Paw- 
ken,  who  shed  so  many  tears  when  you  went  away  to  be  a 
soldier,  how  he  will  leap  and  dance  I — and  my  mother,  and 
grandfather !  I  seem  to  see  them  all  coming  out  with  open 
arms  to  meet  you.  And  the  ox,  poor  beast  I  when  it  hears 
you,  will  be  as  happy  as  the  rest;  for  I  could  see  every 
day  in  his  eyes  that  he  had  not  forgotten  you.  And  then 
grandfather  will  kill  the  fat  buck,  and  we  shall  all  feast  and 
rejoice  together  like  kings.  Ah,  I  wish  that  I  were  sitting 
there  now  I " 

While  chatting  away  in  this  style,  she  often  looked  round 
at  the  blind  man,  who  walked  behind  holding  by  the  leading 
stick,  in  order  to  see  the  effect  of  her  words  on  his  face.  A 
faint  smile  was  the  only  change  she  perceived  on  it;  but 
this  indication  of  pleasure,  slight  as  it  was,  encouraged  her, 
and  though  her  companion  had  made  no  reply,  she  proceeded— 

"  And  when  we  once  find  ourselves  at  home  Again,  John, 
I  will  stay  by  you,  and  never  leave  you.  I  will  buy  songs, 
and  learn  them  by  heart,  to  sing  them  to  jou  in  the  eyemiif 


THX  BECBUn.  %1 

by  the  fireside ;  when  I  am  working  in  the  fields,  yon  will 
always  be  beside  me,  and  we  shall  talk  together  during  <rar 
work ;  and  what  you  can't  see,  I  shall  let  you  feel  with  your 
hands,  and  in  that  way  you  shall  know  just  as  well  as  I  how 
the  crops  are  getting  on — you  shall  see  them  grow  in  your 
mind.  I  will  take  you  to  church,  too ;  and  on  Sunday  even- 
ings drink  a  can  of  beer  with  you  at  the  *  Crown,'  that  you 
may  have  a  chat  with  your  old  friends.  Everything  will  be 
just  as  if  you  were  not  blind.  What  do  you  say  to  all  that? 
Is  it  not  all  very  delightful  to  think  of?" 

A  few  tears  fell  from  under  the  green  shade  which  covered 
the  soldier's  eyes,  and  rolled  like  rain-drops  upon  the  road. 
He  replied  in  a  melancholy  tone — 

"  Trien  dear,  your  voice  is  so  sweet  that  it  makes  my  heart 
tremble  with  a  kind  of  sadness.  When  I  listen  to  your  beau- 
tifal  talking,  I  feel  as  if  my  guardian  angel  were  walking  on 
before  me :  I  see  you  standing  in  front  of  me ;  you  have 
wings,  and  your  body  is  as  bright  as  the  sun.  I  believe  it  is 
our  dear  heavenly  Father  who  lets  me  see  with  my  poor  blind 
eyes  how  you  are  to  be  afterwards  rewarded  in  heaven  for 
your  inconceivable  goodness." 

"  Ah,  John,  you  must  not  speak  in  that  singular  way,"  re- 
plied Trien ;  "  I  desire  only  one  reward  for  my  labour,  and 
that  is  to  see  you  less  melancholy.  You  were  much  more 
cheerful  yesterday." 

The  blind  man  drew  back  the  stick,  and  taking  the  msiden'f 
hand  that  he  might  walk  beside  her,  said — 

"  Trien,  yesterday  I  was  merry,  because  I  was  thinking  of 
my  return  home.  But  since  this  morning,  and  especially 
since  I  slept  yonder,  I  perceive  how  matters  really  stand. 
Something  disturbs  my  heart  which  I  will  not  hide  from  yon 
— God  himself  would  punish  me  were  I  to  repay  yov  lf»vf 
with  selfishness." 


99  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

**  Well,  Jolin,  what  has  come  into  your  head  now  Ton 
make  me  so  anxious  that  I  can  scarcely  walk  on.  Tell  me 
what  grieves  you  so  ;  it  must  just  be  some  fancy  or  other." 

"  Let  us  talk  quietly  and  calmly  over  the  matter,  Trion," 
replied  the  young  man,  with  a  choking  voice.  "You  are 
strong,  pretty,  and  good  of  heart,  and  can  do  every  kind  of 
work  ;  and  is  it  proper  that  you  should  let  your  young  life  bo 
wasted  and  lost  out  of  love  and  pity  for  an  unfortunate  blind 
man  ?  And  then,  when  our  parents  lie  in  the  churchyard, 
you  will  be  old,  alone,  and  destitute,  and  all  for  my  sake." 

The  maiden,  moved  by  the  sad  tones  of  his  voice,  wept  bit- 
terly, though  the  young  man  did  not  perceive  it. 

"  Trien,  even  on  my  deathbed  shall  I  think  of  that  blessed 
moment  by  the  linden- tree,  when  we  took  farewell  of  one  an- 
other. I  understood  what  your  darling  blue  eyes  then  said, 
and  it  has  made  me  happy  in  my  sufferings.  Even  when  the 
loctor  was  burning  my  eyes  with  the  caustic  so  that  I 
jscreamed  with  agony,  you  stood  before  me  with  the  same 
blush  upon  your  brow,  and  I  still  felt  your  hand  tremble  in 
mine.  Ah  I  if  the  all-merciful  God  had  left  me  but  one  eye 
to  work  for  our  daily  bread,  I  would  have  fallen  on  my  knees 
before  you,  Trien,  to  entreat  that  we  should  be  united  for  life ; 
and  I  would  have  worked  myself  to  death  to  reward  you  for 
your  kindness  in  granting  my  entreaty.  But  now,  that  is  all 
over." 

"  But,  for  God's  sake,  John,"  cried  the  girl,  full  of  despair, 
**  what  are  you  talking  of?  Do  you  say  all  this  to  tortore 
me  ?  I  do  not  understand  you.  What  in  the  world  then  da 
yon  wish?" 

"  Sorrow — and  death  I"  sighed  the  youth. 

"  Death  I "  cried  Trien  with  vexation.  "  Do  you  think  1 
will  let  you  die  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  Speak  more  clearly 
I  Oftn't  bear  these  mysterions  words.    I  unll  go  no  forthar 


THE  RECRUIT.  69 

Sit  down  here  for  a  little,  that  these  hateful  thcugbts  may  be 
driven  out  of  your  head." 

She  led  the  blind  man  to  the  roadside,  and  taking  oflf  the 
knapsack,  sat  down  with  him  on  the  thin  grass,  and  said — 

"  Now,  then,  John,  let  me  hear  what  you  have  got  to  say ; 
and  speak  right  out  what  you  mean." 

"  Ah,  dear  Trien,  you  know  what  I  mean ;  you  will  cast 
away  your  youth  for  my  sake.  Can  I  then  desire  that  you 
should  waste  your  whole  life  out  of  compassion  for  me  ?  The 
very  thought  tears  my  heart  in  pieces.  If  you  wish  me  to 
have  an  easy  mind  and  be  cheerful,  then  promise  that  you 
will  be  henceforth  nothing  more  to  me  than  a  sister ;  that  you 
will  go  to  merry-makings  as  formerly,  and  be  friendly  to  other 
young  men." 

Trien  interrupted  him  with  sobs  and  tears — 

"  John,  John  I  how  is  it  possible  that  you  can  be  so  cruel  ? 
You  cut  my  heart  in  two  like  a  butcher.  All  the  reward  for 
my  kindness  is,  *  Go,  seek  other  young  men.'  How  have  I 
deserved  that,  or  what  have  I  done  wrong?" 

John  sought  for  the  maiden's  hand,  and  when  he  had 
grasped  it,  said  with  a  melancholy  voice — 

"  Ah,  Trien,  you  will  not  understand  me.  Had  I  still  six 
eyes  I  would  let  them  all  be  burnt  out  just  that  I  might  love 
you,  if  I  could  do  so  without  bringing  you  sorrow.  And  yet 
blindness  is  a  calamity  the  bitterness  of  which  no  one  can  con- 
ceive BO  long  as  he  has  the  light.  But  God  would  assuredly 
punish  me  were  I  to  use  your  life  for  my  own  advantage." 

"  And  were  I  to  follow  your  hateful  advice,  I  suppose  you 
would  forget  me  too  ?" 

"  Forget  I "  replied  the  blind  man.  "  It  is  always  night 
around  me.  My  whole  life  long  I  must  think  and  dream.  On 
whom  and  on  what  ?  Only  on  your  goodness,  and  on  what 
yoor  eyes  said  when  we  parted  yonder." 


f  0  TALB8  OF  rLBMXSH  UTB. 

"  And  even  if  yon  gained  yonr  wish,  yoa  would  itfll 
tinne  to  love  Trien,  then,  wonld  yon?" 

"  Always,  always — till  death  I" 

The  maiden  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes.  A  totally  dif- 
ferent expression  now  took  possession  of  her  features,  and 
with  joyful  pride  and  a  cheerftd  heart,  she  rejoined — 

"And  /  in  the  meantime  should  forsake  you?  Go  to 
merry-makings  with  other  young  men,  while  you  sat  all  week 
long  in  your  house,  at  the  comer  of  the  hearth,  forsaken  and 
alone,  mourning  and  thinking  of  me  ?  John,  how  could  you 
even  imagine  such  a  thing?  Were  it  not  yow,  I  should  cer- 
tainly be  very  angry.  Do  yon  think,  then,  that  I  have  no 
heart,  and  would  let  you  pine  and  waste  away  alone  with 
nobody  to  care  for  you  ?  No,  no ;  you  loved  me  dearly  when 
you  still  had  your  two  fine  black  eyes ;  and  I  will  still  love 
you  when  you  have  lost  them,  poor  fellow !  Speak  to  me 
no  more  of  other  young  men — it  vexes  me ;  for  it  sounds  as 
if  yon  cared  no  more  about  me  ;  and  the  very  thought  of  that 
makes  the  tears  roll  over  my  cheeks." 

John  pressed  the  maiden's  hand  with  mute  and  wondering 
gratitude ;  and,  after  a  pause,  said  with  a  sigh — 

"Trien,  you  are  an  angel  upon  earth.  I  feel  that  you 
alone  can  make  me  forget  what  God  has  taken  from  me ;  bat 
it  cannot,  cannot  be." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied ;  "  I  understand  you  now :  you  wonld 
say  that  I  should  enter  the  order  of  St.  Anna,  and  be  an  old 
maid  for  life.  It  shall  not  be  so.  I  mean  to  make  a  happy 
marriage,  and  that  before  the  winter  com  is  sown,  I  tell  you." 

"  Marry  I "  murmured  the  soldier,  secretly  disquieted ;  "oh, 
Trien,  now  is  my  heart  at  rest.  God  grant  that  your  husband 
love  you  as  you  deserve.  You  wUl  be  married,  then  ?  With 
whom  ?    Is  it  a  friend  in  our  village  ?" 

"John,  have  you  loit  your  aensei?"  cried  the  giii,  witk 


VBE  SXCBX7IT.  f  1 

•ach  emphasis  that  it  re-echoed  in  the  fir- wood  behind.  •*  I 
lay  that  I  shall  marry,  and  you  ask  whom.     Why,  youV* 

"  Heavens  !    Me  I— a  poor  blind  man  I" 

"  Yes,  you  ;  him  who  would  give  six  eyes  to  dare  to  lore 
me." 

"  Oh,  thanks,  thanks,  Trien,  for  your  inexpressible  good- 
ness.   May  God  bless  you  for  a  love  so  great ;  but" — 

Trien  laid  her  hand  on  his  mouth  and  arrested  the  hut,  say- 
ing at  the  same  time — 

"  Silence  ;  you  spoke  so  earnestly  just  then,  that  my  heart 
leapt  in  my  breast  when  I  heard  you.  Say  no  more ;  let  me 
speak  now.  If  Trien  had  become  blind  through  some  mis- 
fortune, would  you  have  driven  the  poor  forlorn  sheep  from 
you  ?  And  if  she  still  continued  to  love  you  in  her  affliction, 
would  you  have  given  her  a  deathblow  by  looking  after  other 
girls  ?    Answer  me." 

"  I  may  not  answer." 

"  You  must,  John ;  and  answer  directly,  too." 

"  Ah,  well,  Trien,  I  would  have  done  as  you  do  now :  bnt 
it  cannot  be,  dearest :  what  would  people  say  of  »n«.'" 

"  It  shall  be,"  said  the  maiden  with  decision.  "  Promise  it 
here,  on  my  right  hand,  that  God  may  see  it,  and  that  it  may 
be  ratified  in  heaven,  till  the  priest  shall  unite  us  in  the 
church." 

When  the  soldier  heard  this,  he  covered  his  face  with  both 
hands,  and  let  his  head  sink  slowly  on  the  maiden's  breast, 
overpowered  and  speechless  with  emotion. 

"People  I"  exclaimed  Trien  with  animation.  "He  who 
does  rightly  need  not  be  ashamed  of  himself  before  any  man. 
And  when  I  go  to  church  with  you,  and  take  your  hand  before 
the  altar,  then  shall  I  hold  my  head  proudly,  and  think  that 
€k)d  alone  knows  what  is  good  and  what  is  bad.  And  when 
I  have  once  done  it,  I  shall  soon  show  what  one  can  acoom- 


TS  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

plish  where  there  is  a  stout  heart  and  strong  arms.  Yon 
shall  want  for  nothing,  John  dear ;  Trien  will  take  care  of 
that ;  and  she  will  remain  with  you,  and  comfort  and  cheer 
you  till  death  separates  us.  And  so  shall  we  live  with  our 
mothers  and  grandfather  and  Pawken  in  peace  and  happiness 
as  we  used  to  do.     Is  it  not  delightful  to  think  of  all  this  ?" 

With  tears  in  his  eyes,  the  blind  soldier  kissed  her  hands. 
He  still  murmured  a  few  words  of  unwillingness  to  accept  her 
affectionate  sacrifice;  but  she  spoke  in  an  imperative  tone— 

"  John,  we  cannot  sit  here  any  longer ;  we  must  go.  It  will 
be  dark  before  we  reach  the  farm-house  where  I  slept  four  days 
ago.  Eise  and  push  on  a  little  further  with  a  cheerful  heart. 
No  more  of  this ;  what  is  said  is  said.  Let  us  talk  now  of 
other  things." 

She  took  the  knapsack  on  her  back,  gave  John  the  end  of 
the  staff  as  before,  and  both  trudged  cm  over  the  heath  in 
filMioe,  but  with  joyful  hearts. 


mscKunr.  ?1 


CHAPTEB  VL 

Oh  the  following  morning  by  daybreak,  Trien  waa  again 
m  her  way,  with  the  knapsack  on  her  back  and  the  blind 
joldier  behind  her. 

The  grass  by  the  road-side,  and  the  herbs  on  the  heath, 
glistened  in  the  early  rays  of  the  sun  as  if  they  had  been 
strewed  with  diamonds ;  while  the  tops  of  the  firs,  moistened 
with  dew,  seemed  all  arrayed  in  silver.  The  eastern  heavens 
were  lighted  np  with  a  golden  and  purple  glow  ;  and  away  to- 
wards the  distant  copse,  the  night-vapours  rose  and  floated 
between  earth  and  sky.  The  birds  were  awake,  and  filled 
the  air  with  their  songs ;  the  bees  hummed  busily  round  the 
wild  thyme,  while  beetles  and  butterflies  flew  cheerfully 
about.  All  nature  smiled  at  the  dawn  of  beautiful  day: 
everything  proclaimed  the  advent  of  light. 

The  good  maiden,  too,  found  herself  in  a  pleasing  though 
unconscious  harmony  with  nature.  From  time  to  time  she 
sang  in  lively  tones  snatches  from  various  ballads,  to  give 
utterance  to  the  joy  which  she  felt ;  while  the  soldier  walked 
on  silently,  but  with  a  pleased  expression  which  showed  a 
heart  at  rest. 

"  How  comes  it,  Trien  dear,"  he  said,  after  some  time,  **  thai 
yon  are  so  happy  ?  It  must  be  owing  to  the  beautiful  weather 
furely.    I  cannot  lee  it,  but  I  hear  the  merry  long  of  th« 


74  TALBf  OF  FLEMI8H  UWE, 

birds  welcoming  the  daj,  and  the  joyfhl  hum  of  the  beef  «l 

my  feet." 

"  No,  John,  that  is  not  the  reason,"  she  replied ;  "  come 
closer  and  I  shall  tell  you  what  it  is — something  which  will 
make  you  wonder.  It  is  only  a  dream,  to  be  sure,  and  I  had 
almost  forgotten  it ;  but  this  fine  fresh  air  has  revived  me, 
and  it  has  all  come  to  mind  again.  It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to 
dream,  is  it  not,  John  ?" 

"  Sometimes." 

"  Yes ;  I  mean  when  the  dreams  are  beautiful.  I  do  not 
know  when  I  have  been  so  happy  as  last  night  when  asleep, 
and  I  would  not  give  my  dream  for  twenty  crown-pieces,  and 
that  is  a  tremendous  lot  of  money.  It  is  vexing,  John,  that 
dreams  are  not  true." 

"  What  dream  have  you  had,  then,  Trien,  that  was  so  very 
beautiful?" 

**  You,  too,  are  concerned  in  it,  John ;  that  you  may  well 
suppose.  Ah,  it  was  so  delightful  I  only  listen :  The  farmer's 
wife— may  God  reward  her  for  it,  good  woman  1 — had  showa 
me  into  a  Kttle  bedroom  for  the  night.  When  I  found  myself 
alone,  I  knelt  and  prayed  before  the  image  of  the  Virgin  which 
stood  on  the  little  house-altar.  I  do  not  know  how  long  I  knelt, 
but  when  I  rose  my  head  whirled  round,  and  I  almost  lost  the 
power  of  knowing  where  I  was  or  what  I  was — so  at  least  it 
seemed  to  me.  The  moon  had  in  the  meantime  risen,  and 
shone  so  brightly  through  the  little  window,  that  my  room 
seemed  all  glorified  with  such  a  flood  of  light,  that  I  could 
scarcely  recognise  it  to  be  the  same  place.  I  laid  my  brow 
upon  the  window-pane  to  cool  my  head,  and  then  threw  my- 
self half-dressed  on  the  bed,  that  I  might  be  ready  early  on 
the  following  morning.  But  still  I  could  not  sleep,  for  the 
moon  seemed  always  right  before  my  eyes ;  and  I  tormented 
myself  to  find  out  the  man  with  the  bundle  of  stickg  in  itr 


Whether  I  fell  asleep  at  last  is  more  than  I  can  tell ;  but  K 

mnst  have  been  so,  for  only  hear  what  happened  to  me  next. 
All  of  a  sudden,  the  moon  changed  into  a  month  and  bind 
eyes  of  wonderful  beauty ;  then  a  ruddy  hue  like  that  of  a 
ripe  apple  came  over  it,  and  it  looked  at  me  with  so  friendly 
a  smile,  that  I  was  quite  enchanted.  I  have  never  in  my  life 
seen  a  woman  so  beautiful,  and  so  like  an  angel  in  heaven  j 
for  if  there  were  such  a  one  on  earth,  everybody  would  cer- 
tainly kneel  down  and  worship  her.  I  am  quite  sure  of  that ; 
but  listen  to  what  followed.  Gradually  there  grew  out  of  the 
moon  arms  and  legs,  and  a  long  robe  adorned  with  great 
golden  blossoms;  and  on  its  head  there  appeared  a  silver 
crown  of  seven  bright  stars.  And  now  it  was  no  longer  the 
moon,  but  a  woman  who  bore  in  her  arms  a  little  child  more 
beautiful  than  the  little  cherubs  in  heaven.  And,  oh,  John  I 
it  was  our  dear  Lady  out  of  the  little  room  at  home,  who  had 
become  alive,  and  had  our  blessed  Lord  in  her  arms ;  and  He 
smiled  and  beckoned  to  me.  But  there  is  more  and  better 
yet.  How  she  came  there  I  do  not  know,  but  I  saw  her 
next  sitting  on  a  chair  outside  the  window,  and  you  too  saw 
her  with  your  blind  eyes ;  for  we  fell  down  together  on  our 
knees,  and  stretched  out  our  arms  from  behind  the  window, 
as  if  calling  upon  the  Holy  Mother  to  come  to  us.  Then  she 
came  gently,  gently  down,  always  nearer  and  nearer,  and  right 
through  the  window  into  the  room.  She  said  something  to 
her  child,  Jesus,  and  the  child  touched  your  eyes  with  hi» 
finger,  and  you,  John,  exclaimed,  quite  mad  with  joy,  *  I  see  I 
I  see  I  *  I,  poor  thing,  was  so  overpowered  by  it  all,  that  I 
sprang  up  in  my  sleep  and  fell  out  of  bed ;  and  oh,  John,  it 
waa  not  true.  I  had  only  dreamt ;  for  the  moon,  with  the 
man  in  it,  still  shone  in  the  sky,  and  the  image  of  the  Virgin 
still  stood  calmly  on  the  little  altar  in  the  comer  of  thQ  room. 
Ii  not  thai  ^  charming  dreiua  ?' 


Ti  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

She  was  silent,  and  waited  for  a  reply.  After  a  short  paiUM, 
the  young  man  said — 

"  Trien,  how  beautifully  you  can  tell  a  story.  My  Leart 
beat  with  pleasure  while  you  were  speaking ;  I  seemed  to  see 
it  all  happen.  And  when  you  said  that  our  Lord  touched  my 
eyes,  I  felt  something  which  1  cannot  describe ;  and  I  saw  oui 
dear  Lady  so  clearly  and  distinctly,  that  I  could  draw  on  tho 
sand  the  golden  flowers  which  sparkled  on  her  robe." 

"  What  kind  of  flowers  did  you  see,  John  ?" 

"  Large  roses." 

"  And  so  did  I ;  that  is  strange." 

"  And  lilies,  like  those  which  stood  in  the  brewer's  garden 
last  year." 

"  I  saw  roses  and  lilies  too.  But  how  is  that  possible  ?  It 
quite  puzzles  me." 

"  Ah,  dearest,"  sighed  John ;  "  do  not  deceive  yourself  with 
a  false  hope.  *  Dreams  are  bubbles,'  says  the  proverb ;  it  is 
only  a  little  comfort  which  God  has  sent  to  cheer  us  on  our 
way." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Trien  joyfully ;  "  since  last  night,  I 
leem  to  love  the  Virgin-Mother  more  than  ever ;  and  when 
we  are  at  home,  I  shall  go  to  the  sexton's  daughter,  Marion, 
and  beg  some  silver  paper,  in  order  to  make  just  such  a  silver 
erown  with  seven  stars,  as  I  saw  last  night,  to  put  on  the 
Image  under  the  linden- tree ;  and  if  we  are  ever  able  to  do  it, 
we  shall  dress  it  in  a  robe  adorned  with  golden  flowers  besides. 
Let  us  now  make  speed,  before  the  sun  rises  higher ;  and  take 
hold  of  the  stick,  John,  for  the  footpath  is  growing  narrow  and 
nigged.  I  think  we  must  have  wandered  out  of  our  way 
when  I  was  telling  my  dream." 

"  Trien  dear,  take  great  care  to  keep  the  right  way,  for  my 
knees  begin  to  grow  weary  already.  I  don't  think  I  shall  be 
able  to  manage  ten  hours  to-day." 


THE  BECBUIT.  ¥7 

«*  Do  not  vex  yourself,  John,"  she  replied,  walking  mow 
slowly ;  "  on  a  flat  heath  like  this  one  can't  go  far  wrong ; 
and  I  see  yonder  in  the  distance,  the  two  towers,  Moll  and 
Baelen,  as  we  were  told  this  morning." 

"  How  far  distant  are  they  ?" 

"  An  hour  and  a  half  yet.  Can  you  manage  so  far  this 
morning?" 

"  Yes,  if  we  take  a  refit  now  and  then  by  the  way." 

"  You  must  tell  when  you  are  tired.  We  shall  not  speak, 
for  it  will  make  you  feel  sooner  fatigued." 


The  sun  meanwhile  had  risen  high,  and  began  to  pour  its 
burning  light  over  the  heath  like  a  stream  of  fire.  The  air 
was  so  sultry,  that  it  was  with  difficulty  our  travellers  could 
breathe,  and  the  perspiration  poured  from  their  faces.  Ex- 
hausted though  he  was,  the  soldier  would  not  allow  himself  to 
complain  of  fatigue,  but  continued  to  walk  bravely  on  behind 
his  guide.  He  had  broken  the  long  silence  only  once,  with 
the  observation  that  his  eyes  pained  him  excessively,  as  if  the 
burning  rays  had  increased  the  inflammation. 

After  she  had  kept  steadily  on  for  an  hour  or  more,  Trien 
suddenly  stood  still.  Surprised  at  the  unexpected  pause,  he 
said — 

"  Trien,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Why  do  you  stop  all  at  once 
in  that  way?" 

"  Well,  John,"  she  replied  in  a  grieved  tone,  "  here  is  a 
pretty  business.  Heaven  knows  how  far  we  have  wandered 
from  the  right  road,  and  now  there  stands  right  before  us,  and 
running  quite  across  the  whole  heath,  a  broad  stream,  and  not 
a  bridge  of  any  kind  to  be  seen." 

"  That  is  very  vexing,"  sighed  John  ;  "  for  I  am  already 
quite  worn  out.     Is  the  water  deep,  Trien  ?" 

*^0h,  no;    it  is  a  broad  shallow  stream;    I  can  see  th« 


TS  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LDTB. 

bottom  qnite  well,  and  it  would  not  take  me  aboTe  the 
to  wade  across  it." 

**  Let  ns  venture  it,  Trien ;   and  then  we  shall  be  laved 

going  round." 

**  But  it  is  impossible,  John ;  for  the  banks  are  so  high  that 
you  could  go  neither  up  nor  down.  But  come,  come,  let  as 
make  a  virtue  of  necessity." 

She  led  her  blind  companion  to  the  edge  of  the  brook,  and, 
first  throwing  the  knapsack  across,  stepped  down  into  the  water; 
the  young  man  heard  her,  and  asked  what  she  was  going  to  do. 

"  Throw  your  arms  round  my  neck,  and  take  fast  hold,"  she 
replied  ;  and  drawing  the  soldier  towards  her,  she  compelled 
him,  spite  of  his  objections,  to  obey  her  kindly  order ;  then 
carrying  the  heavy  burden  through  the  water  to  the  opposite 
side,  she  said — 

"  John,  there  stands  a  willow-bush  on  the  bank,  take  hold 
of  it  and  help  yourself  up,  and  I  shall  assist  you." 

He  did  as  she  told  him,  and  gained  the  firm  ground  with- 
out any  difficulty.  Trien  immediately  joined  him,  shaking 
the  water  out  of  her  clothes  as  she  approached. 

"  Ah,  Trien  1 "  said  the  blind  man,  "  you  are  goodness  and 
love  itself.  How  it  grieves  me  to  think  that  I  can  never  re- 
ward you  for  so  much  pity  and  kindness." 

"  Now,  JohD,"  she  interrupted,  "  is  it  worth  while  to  waste 
a  word  on  such  a  trifle  as  my  carrying  you  through  the  water  ? 
That  is  nothing ;  the  sun  will  dry  my  clothes  in  a  very  short 
time.  Try  to  go  a  little  further  at  a  slow  pace,  for  in  half 
an  hour  we  shall  reach  the  first  tower,  and  that  is  Moll,  as 
we  were  told.     There  we  shall  rest  ourselves  a  little." 

"  Is  the  water  of  this  brook  pure  ?"  he  asked. 

"As  clear  as  crystal,"  she  answered;  "are  you  thirsty? 
Wait  a  moment — I  can't  get  more  than  one  wetting — and  I 
•hall  get  you  a  hearty  draught  of  it." 


9BE  XECSUIT.  79 

While  speaking,  she  had  nntied  the  camp-kettle  from  the 
knapsack,  bnt  the  soldier  said — 

**  No,  Trien,  I  do  not  wish  water  to  drink.    My  eyes  pain 
me  excessively ;  and  I  think  if  yon  were  to  give  me  water  on . 
•  napkin  to  wash  them  with,  it  wonld  refresh  them  a  little." 

She  stepped  down  into  the  brook,  and  having  filled  the  little 
vessel  with  the  pnrest  water,  went  np  to  the  blind  man,  and, 
drawing  a  white  linen  cloth  from  her  bosom,  said  to  him — 

"  Sit  down,  and  let  me  wash  your  eyes ;  for  yon  conld  not 
do  it  yourself  without  wetting  your  clothes." 

The  soldier  sat  down  on  the  grass  with  his  back  towards 
the  sun,  while  Trien  took  the  shade  from  his  head  and  bathed 
his  closed  eyes  with  the  wet  cloth.  And  when  he  told  her  that 
this  washing  revived  and  refreshed  him  very  much,  she  kept 
laving  his  face  and  brow  copiously,  till  he  held  her  hand  and  told 
\er  to  stop.  As  she  stepped  a  little  aside  to  pick  up  the  shade, 
the  blind  man  suddenly  sprang  on  his  feet,  with  a  singular 
cry,  and  stood  trembling  and  stretching  out  his  hands  towards 
his  companion,  while  unintelligible  sounds  escaped  from  his 
lips — 

"Heavens,  John!  what  is  the  matter  with  you?"  cried 
Trien,  running  to  him  with  alarm. 

With  an  air  of  perplexity  and  confusion,  he  pushed  her 
gently  back,  saying — 

"  Trien,  Trien,  go  back  again  to  the  same  spot,  I  beseech 
yon  I" 

Astonished  at  the  tone  of  his  voice  and  the  incomprehensible 
joy  depicted  in  his  countenance,  the  girl  did  what  he  desired, 
and  placed  herself  some  steps  from  him.  He  opened  his  dead 
eyes,  and,  with  outstretched  arms,  exclaimed — 

"  Trien,  Trien  1 1  saw  you  I    My  left  eye  is  not  quite  gone." 

As  if  struck  by  lightning,  the  poor  girl  trembled  all  owtt^ 
•ad  with  tottering  stept  approached  the  so1die]>— 


90  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

"  No,  no,  Jolin,  it  cannot  be  1  Do  not  kill  me  with  joy. 
This  bright  sunlight  must  have  deceived  you,  poor  fel- 
low!" 

.  "  I  saw  you,"  exclaimed  the  soldier  almost  mad  with  joy, 
"  like  a  black  mass.  You  passed  before  my  eyes  like  a  shadow. 
My  left  eye  is  not  quite  gone,  I  tell  you.  Oh,  Trien  dear,  it 
is  your  dream  of  last  night." 

Trien  uttered  a  cry  as  piercing  as  if  it  had  escaped  from 
some  one  in  agony,  and  falling  on  her  knees,  with  trembling 
and  uplifted  hands  she  offered  up  to  God  a  calm  and  silent 
but  deep  and  earnest  thanksgiving.  The  soldier  saw  her  in 
indistinct  and  shadowy  outline,  and  knelt  likewise  beside  the 
praying  girl.  She  was  so  lost,  however,  in  devout  adoration, 
that  she  did  not  perceive  him,  and  knelt  for  a  long  time  ab- 
sorbed and  motionless.  At  last,  calmed  by  her  devotion,  she 
turned  her  head  and  saw  her  friend  also  on  his  knees. 

"  John,  John  I  did  you  see  what  I  did  ?"  she  exclaimed. 

"I  saw  it  I— I  saw  it  I" 

"  Oh,  our  dear  Lady  1 "  sighed  Trien,  while  a  torrent  of 
tears  now  first  burst  from  her  eyes.  "This  is  thy  doing, 
holy  Mother  of  God.  I  will  never  forget  it ;  but  every  year 
make  a  pilgrimage  barefoot  to  worship  thee  at  Scherpen- 
heuvel." 

After  this  earnest  declaration,  strength  seemed  all  at  once 
to  leave  her ;  she  threw  her  arm  round  the  soldier's  neck,  and, 
leaning  her  head  on  his  breast,  wept  in  silence.  The  young 
man's  emotion  was  equally  great ;  words  failed  him  to  express 
the  mingled  feelings  which  overflowed  his  heart.  A  whole 
ftiture  of  gratitude,  of  love  and  joy,  had  opened  itself  to  hia 
view,  and  uplifted  his  soul  with  the  enchanting  prospect  of  a 
osefii.  and  happy  life.  At  last,  Trien  raised  her  head,  and, 
every  now  and  then  uttering  expressions  of  joy,  she  bound  the 
■hade  over  the  soldier's  eyes;  and  taking  the  knapsack  on  her 


THE  BECBITIT* 

back,  and  the  young  man  by  the  hand,  both  Bet  out  agrnta 
with  light  steps  to  finish  their  day's  journey. 

"  Oh,  John  dear,"  said  Trien,  "  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but 
I  conld  dance  and  leap  with  joy ;  now,  I  could  walk  twenty 
hours  longer  without  feeling  tired." 

"  It  is  the  same  with  me,"  replied  the  soldier ;  "  I  feel  as 
if  I  could  fly.  Oh,  dearest  Trien,  if  my  left  eye  were  to  grow 
quite  well  again,  what  happiness  I  what  joy  I  My  heart  feeli 
oppressed  when  I  think  of  it." 

"  Grow  quite  well  I  to  be  sure  it  will.  Our  dear  Lady  will 
take  care  of  that.  Do  you  not  see  that  it  is  the  hand  of  Qod  ? 
My  dream  last  night." 

"  Trieny  dear,  Trieny  dear,"  he  cried,  while  he  tremblingly 
pressed  her  hand ;  "  ah,  if  it  were  to  turn  out  so,  how  beauti- 
ful should  our  life  on  earth  then  be  I  We  should  then  marry, 
as  you  have  so  kindly  promised,  and  I  should  work  like  a 
slave — but  oh,  with  what  life  and  happiness  I — while  you, 
my  dearest  wife,  should  have  nothing  to  do  but  take  care  of 
yourself  and" — 

"  Not  so,  John,"  she  interrupted,  smiling ;  "  do  you  imagine 
I  could  live  in  idleness  ?  I  would  show  you  other  things,  I 
can  tell  you." 

"  It  is  all  the  same,"  he  said  ;  "  you  should  do  only  what 
you  chose  to  do,  and  nothing  more.  And  our  parents,  Trien, 
how  happy  should  we  make  their  last  days  by  our  care  and 
love !  I  would  tear  down  the  partition  between  the  two  huts 
and  make  one  house  of  them,  that  all  might  live  together.  It 
would  be  quite  a  heaven  of  love  and  joy." 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful  1 "  sighed  Trien  with  emotion ;  "  the 
partition  must  be  taken  down  at  once  ;  and  then  grandfather, 
and  our  mothers,  and  Pawken,  and  you  and  I,  and  our  cow 
too,  shall  be  always  together.  What  a  life!  Oh,  what  s 
life  I" 


n  TALIS  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

Trien  clapped  her  hands  with  joy,  like  a  child. 

**  And  then,"  continued  John,  "  we  fann  too  little  land  just 
BOW  to  giye  ns  enough  to  do,  and  enable  us  to  make  progress. 
I  shall  drive  a  trade  with  fir-cones,  besides,  and  gradually  add 
wood  and  bundles  of  twigs.  Then  we  must  look  a  little  to 
the  future  ;  if" — 

He  said  no  more,  for  the  maiden  had  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands,  and  he  heard  her  sobbing. 

"  Why  do  my  words  trouble  you  so  ?"  he  asked. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  speak  no  more  of  all  these  beautiful 
things.  I  feel  as  if  my  heart  would  break  with  joy  at  the 
thought  of  it  all.  John,  I  am  so  happy,  that  I  shall  go  out  of 
my  senses  if  you  go  on  talking  about  the  paradise  that  awaits 
us  on  earth." 

"  And  I  too,  Trien,  But  I  cannot  be  silent  for  all  that ; 
my  heart  overflows.  Let  me  go  on,  and  do  you  speak  also ; 
and  so  we  shall  be  at  Moll  without  knowing  it,  so  light  and 
easy  will  the  way  appear;  and  there  we  are  to  rest,  you 
know." 

The  soldier  began  anew  to  unfold  his  fine  plans,  and  en- 
chanted the  maiden  with  his  pictures  of  a  blessed  future  in 
which  both  lived  their  whole  life  through  by  anticipation,  and 
enjoyed  pleasures  in  prospect. 

At  last,  they  reached  their  resting-place.  Trien  gave  John 
the  kna{%ack,  and  both  entered  the  village  hand  in  hand. 


KBominri. 


CHAPTEB  VIL 

Late  in  the  aHemoon,  Trien,  accompanied  by  her  friend, 
might  be  seen  wandering  over  the  heath  on  the  farther  ride 
of  Casterlee,  where  they  had  crossed  the  Nethe.  Both  were 
rilent  and  mnch  depressed,  but  neither  had  courage  to  disclose 
to  the  other  what  each  feared ;  on  the  contrary,  the  few  wordi 
which  they  exchanged  were  attempts  to  appear  as  cheerful  as 
possible.  Notwithstanding  this,  however,  they  felt  that  they 
had  been  cherishing  a  delusion,  and  their  hearts  were  filled 
with  sorrow.  Since  they  had  resumed  their  journey,  Trien 
had  already  washed  the  soldier's  eyes  five  or  six  times ;  Bhe 
did  not  pass  a  brook,  indeed,  without  trying  whether  it  pos- 
sessed the  wonder-working  power  of  the  stream  on  the  heath. 
Alas  I  her  loving  solicitude  became  for  herself  and  for  the  un- 
happy John  a  source  of  disappointment  and  despair. 

Whether  it  was  that  the  soldier  had  deceived  himself 
when  he  imagined  that  he  saw  Trien,  or  that  the  cold  water 
and  the  rubbing  had  increased  the  inflammation,  he  saw  no 
longer,  however  much  he  strained  his  eyes  to  discern  ihe  out- 
Jne  of  his  companion's  form.  He  could  not  even  bear  the 
light,  and  closed  his  eyes  with  intense  pain  whenever  Trien 
took  the  shade  from  his  head.  Accordingly,  the  terrible 
conviction  took  possession  of  both  their  minds,  that  they  had 
been  the  victims  of  a  vain  delurion,  and  that  the  blindness 
was  total  and  incurable.    A  last  ray  of  hope,  to  be  san,  in 


84  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

the  form  of  a  happy  uncertainty,  still  lived  in  the  bottom  ol 
their  hearts ;  but  it  was  able  to  light  up  their  quiet  despair 
with  only  a  passing  gleam,  which  by  contrast  with  the  sad 
reality  served  only  to  make  their  sorrow  greater. 

They  were  sad  and  spiritless  also  on  another  account. 
Since  the  morning  they  had  walked  for  eight  hours,  and  were 
excessively  fatigued ;  the  soldier,  indeed,  felt  quite  exhausted 
and  powerless,  and  often  stumbled  as  he  crept  along.  Un- 
consciously and  heedlessly  he  tottered  on  behind  Trien,  still 
holding  the  stick,  with  his  body  bent  forward  and  his  limbs 
relaxed  and  lifeless.  His  feet  were  blistered,  and  had  he  not  al- 
most lost  consciousness  he  would  have  felt  warm  drops  of  blood 
oozing  out  of  his  right  heel  into  his  shoe.  Trien  was  no  less 
weary ;  but  she  pushed  steadily  on  notwithstanding,  without 
saying  anything — even  without  looking  back  at  her  com- 
panion. The  poor  girl  was  too  dejected  to  speak.  Her  heart 
was  now  bereft  of  consolation ;  her  hopes  had  vanished,  her 
glimpse  of  happiness  faded  away.  An  inexpressible  joy  had 
almost  deprived  her  of  her  senses  as  she  built  up  for  herself 
and  family  such  a  glorious  future,  and  now  when  undeceived 
her  grief  was  all  the  deeper ;  and  courageous  as  she  was,  she 
felt  quite  overpowered,  and  bent  like  a  slave  under  the  yoke 
of  an  intense  depression.  What  could  she  say  to  her  friend 
to  raise  him  out  of  his  despair?  Should  she  speak  of  his  eyes 
and  of  hope,  and  belie  her  own  feelings  ?  She  could  not  do 
so ;  it  would  have  fallen  on  her  own  heart  as  well  as  his  like 
bitter  mockery.  She  therefore  walked  on  silently  and  heavily, 
sunk  in  melancholy  thoughts,  and  scarcely  conscious  of  her 
own  condition. 

When  they  had  walked  folly  half  an  hour  in  this  way,  the 
soldier  suddenly  stopped,  and  breathing  with  difficulty,  said — 

"  Stop,  Trien  1  I  am  able  for  no  more." 

^  I  am  quite  worn  out  too,"  replied  the  girl  without  looking 


THE  BECBUrr.  $5 

round ;  "  we  shall  rest  a  little,  and  then  sleep  to-night  in  the 
Tillage  yonder." 

"  0  stop,  then  ! "  said  the  blind  man  imploringly. 

"  We  are  quite  near  a  country-house ;  only  twenty  steps 
farther,  John,  and  we  come  to  a  beautiful  beech-grove,  and 
there  we  can  sit  in  the  shade." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  go  quickly,  Trien !" 

Taking  him  by  the  hand  she  led  him  to  the  grove,  and 
seated  him  with  his  back  towards  it.  The  young  man  fell 
like  lead  upon  the  grass,  and  sat  with  his  head  drooping  on 
his  breast. 

Behind  the  spot  where  the  soldier  and  his  companion  were 
seated,  and  in  the  centre  of  the  beech-grove,  there  was  an 
arbour.  In  it  a  man  sat  reading.  He  must  have  been  very 
old,  for  deep  wrinkles  fiirrowed  his  countenance,  and  the  scanty 
hairs  which  like  a  crown  adorned  his  head  were  as  white  as 
snow.  A  frock-coat  buttoned  to  the  throat  and  an  honorary 
badge  on  his  breast  gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  retired 
officer. 

When  he  heard  the  noise  which  the  two  travellers  made 
behind  him,  he  turned,  and  saw  through  the  foliage  of  the 
arbour  a  soldier  and  a  peasant  girl  with  a  knapsack  on  her 
back.  The  sight  of  this  surprised  him  at  first ;  but  he  thought 
that  it  must  be  a  sister  who  was  conducting  her  brother 
home,  and  was  carrying  his  burden  out  of  affection.  He 
wondered,  nevertheless,  at  this  simple  token  of  love,  and 
smiled  with  friendly  sympathy  as  he  looked  at  them  while 
resting  on  the  bank. 

Trien,  meanwhile,  had  sat  down  beside  the  blind  man,  and 
said  to  him — "John,  you  are  so  quiet  and  melancholy  I 
What  is  the  matter  with  you?  You  are  weary — ^is  that 
the  reason  ?  Tour  fatigue  will  soon  pass  away,  and  yoa  will 
feel  quite  fresh  again.'' 


8€  TALIf  OF  FLBHISH  UTl. 

As  she  receiyed  no  answer,  she  continued  in  an  encourage 
ing  tone — 

**  Keep  up  your  spirits,  John,  and  think  that  we  shall  be 
home  to-morrow.  It  has  taken  twenty  hours  to  come  from 
Venloo  hither:  three  hours  more,  and  we  are  in  our  own 
Tillage.  K  we  rise  early  to-morrow,  we  can  get  over  it  all 
just  like  a  pleasure-walk.  We  have  still  great  cause  to  he 
contented,  for  it  is  really  a  great  piece  of  good  fortune  that  I 
was  pemiitted  to  bring  you  home  from  among  the  soldiers. 
And  as  to  the  rest,  I  shall  take  care  that  you  do  not  have 
much  to  vex  you  in  the  course  of  your  life,  John  dear. — ^Why 
do  you  not  speak?" 

The  young  man  made  an  effort  to  draw  breath,  and  then 
•aid  with  a  sigh — 

"  My  heart  beats,  and  my  eyei  bum  like  fire ;  let  me  rest, 
Trien." 

Some  minutes  passed  in  unbroken  silence :  gradually  Trien 
began  to  think  that  it  was  grief  more  than  fatigue  which  so 
oppressed  her  companion.  So,  with  a  noble  effort,  she  re- 
pressed her  own  sorrow  in  order  to  pour  consolation  into  the 
blind  man's  heart,  and  said  cheerfully — 

"  But  John,  you  are  still  certain  that  you  saw  me  ?  That 
makes  me  believe  that  there  must  still  be  life  in  your  *eft 
eye,  although  you  are  quite  blind  again  in  the  meantime; 
that  must  just  be  caused  by  the  heat,  which  has  inflamed 
your  eyes  more  than  usual.  Only  have  patience  till  we  are 
at  home ;  we  shall  then  sell  some  new  grain,  and  fetch  the 
doctor  from  Wyneghem.  There  is  no  fear  of  his  being  able 
to  cure  you,  f  j?  he  has  worked  many  wonders,  even  on  men 
who  for  several  days  were  thought  to  be  dead.  Only  think, 
John,  to-morrow  we  shall  see  your  mother,  and  grandfather, 
and  Pawken,  and  then  I  shall  lead  you  round  all  your  friendi 
to  tee  how  they  are.    Then,  when  you  have  rested  well,  jam 


THE  BECBUIT.  $7 

eyes  will  not  pain  you  any  longer,  and  there  is  no  doubt  but 
you  will  see  a  little  again.  And  then  we  shall  pray  together 
under  the  linden-tree,  in  order  to  thank  our  dear  Lady  for  her 
compassion ;  for  you  may  be  quite  sure,  John,  that  she  has 

heard  me,  and  will What  is  that  ?     I  see  blood  on  your 

stockings  I    And  you  have  said  nothing  about  it,  poor  fellow ! " 

She  hastily  drew  off  his  shoe  and  stocking,  and  wiped  away 
the  blood  with  her  white  neckerchief.  She  was  then  just 
about  to  tell  him  that  the  bruise  was  not  serious ;  but  scarcely 
had  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face,  when  she  trembled  like  an 
aspen  leaf,  saying  at  the  same  time  in  an  anxious  tone— 

"  John  dear,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  You  are  so 
pale." 

The  young  man  sighed  almost  inaudibly — 

"  I  cannot  tell ;  my  heart  is  breaking.  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
dying." 

He  trembled  violently,  his  head  sank  powerless  on  his 
shoulder,  and  his  arms  fell  lifeless  by  his  side. 

Trien  screamed  with  anxiety  and  alarm,  while  she  laid  her 
hands  on  his  pallid  cheeks,  and  endeavoured  to  raise  him  up, 
calling  out  in  despair — 

"  John  1  John !  Poor,  poor  fellow  I  he  is  dead  I  Water ! 
water  I     Helpl  helpl" 

With  these  words  she  sprang  up,  looked  wildly  rouud  her, 
and  ran  from  one  side  to  another  to  see  if  she  could  find 
water.  She  then  suddenly  perceived  an  open  gate,  which  was 
the  entrance  to  a  gentleman's  house ;  and  uttering  a  cry  of 
joy,  she  ran  towards  it  at  full  speed  to  beg  assistance.  As 
she  approached  the  house  by  the  winding  path  of  the  flower- 
garden,  she  saw  two  men  come  out  of  it  and  approach  her. 
The  one  was  an  old  gentleman  with  snow-white  hair,  and  « 
countenance  commanding  respect ;  the  other,  though  likewise 
i^vanced  in  years,  seemed  still  to  retain  the  strength  of  yout)v 


88  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

A  broad  scar,  like  a  sabre-cut,  ran  down  tbe  face  of  the  latter 
from  the  brow  over  the  mouth  and  chin,  giving  a  severo 
character  to  his  features.  He  carried  a  jug,  two  bottles,  and 
Bome  linen.  He  must  have  been  the  old  gentleman's  servant, 
for  he  followed  him  at  a  little  distance  without  speaking. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  Trien  in  a  tone  of  despair,  "  give  me  some 
water  or  vinegar !  yonder,  behind  the  grove,  lies  a  poor  blind 
lad  in  a  faint.  For  God's  sake,  sir,  have  pity !  do  a  good 
work  and  go  with  me  I     Oh,  if  you  would  be  so  good  I " 

The  old  man  smiled  compassionately,  and  taking  the 
maiden's  hand,  replied  calmly — 

"  Be  calm,  my  child ;  it  is  nothing.  We  are  on  the  way 
to  cure  him.  You  need  not  be  anxious,  it  is  nothing  but  an 
ordinary  faint.  Your  companion  has  exerted  himself  too 
much.     Come  along,  and  dry  your  tears." 

Trien  scarcely  understood  what  he  said ;  it  seemed  to  her 
so  wonderful  that  help  should  be  at  hand,  when  no  one  had 
told  at  the  gentleman's  house  what  had  occurred,  that  in  her 
simplicity  she  thought  that  she  again  discovered  the  kind  in- 
terposition of  the  Virgin  Mother.  With  mingled  joy  and 
surprise  she  gazed  at  the  old  man's  friendly  and  consolatory 
face,  which  smiled  on  her  protectingly. 

"  You  are  a  brave  girl,  my  daughter,  to  show  such  affec- 
tion for  a  poor  soldier,"  he  said,  as  he  walked  hastily  on. 
"  From  what  place  have  you  come  with  him  ?  From  Ven- 
loo?" 

**  Yes,  from  Venloo,  sir ;  it  is  very  far  from  this." 

"  And  have  you  carried  that  knapsack  on  your  back  all  the 
way?" 

"  Ah,  su*,"  she  sighed,  quietly  weeping,  "  the  poor  fellow 
is  blind  and  tannot  walk  easily,  not  being  able  to  see  the 
road.     We  were  in  haste,  and  I  am  strong  and  healthy 
0  God  I  see,  there  he  lies,  as  pale  as  death  I" 


THE  RECBUIT.  9$ 

A  fresli  torrent  of  tears  burst  from  her  eyes,  and  folding 
her  hands  as  if  in  prayer,  she  exclaimed  in  an  anxious  and 
beseeching  tone — "  He  will  not  die  yet,  sir?'* 

With  a  smile  the  old  man  shook  his  head,  and  approached 
the  lad.  The  servant  set  the  bottles  on  the  ground,  and 
without  waiting  for  an  order,  raised  the  soldier's  head  with 
one  hand  while  he  untied  his  neckcloth  with  the  other  and 
put  aside  the  clothes  which  covered  his  breast.  Meanwhile, 
the  old  gentleman  bathed  the  sick  man's  face  and  hands. 
Tri«i  knelt  beside  them,  and  beheld  with  tears  the  care  and 
kindness  with  which  the  two  strangers  treated  her  unhappy 
friend. 

She  soon  perceived  that  these  men  were  accustomed  to  tend 
the  sick,  and  had  no  doubt  that  the  old  gentleman  was  a 
physician.  This  thought  consoled  her,  and  raised  her  spirits. 
A  mingled  feeling  of  gratitude  and  anxious  anticipation  found 
expression  on  her  countenance  in  a  peculiar  smile  which 
glimmered  through  her  tears.  Her  surprise  increased  when 
■he  heard  the  following  words : — 

"  Major,"  said  the  attendant,  "  this  is  just  as  it  waa  at 
Sabijana  de  Alba  in  Spain.  It  makes  me  quite  melancholy 
to  think  of  it." 

"Our  poor  friend  Captaui  Steens,  you  mean?"  replied  the 
gentleman  with  a  sigh.  "  The  faint  is  deep !  Give  me  the 
bottle." 

"  Yes,  I  seem  to  see  it  still :  the  Captain  lay  just  so,  at  the 
foot  of  a  citron- tree ;  but  he  left  his  body  at  Vittoria,  poor 
fellow!  That  was  a  slashing,  and  stabbing,  and  shooting, 
and  mangling  I  Many  a  one  we  picked  up,  and  many  a 
wound  we  dressed  that  day.  I  was  all  blood  from  top  to  too, 
and  you  too.  Major." 

^^  The  heart  begins  to  beat  again :  he  will  come  to  himadl 
immediately,"  said  the  physician. 


W9  TALIS  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

The  attendant  raised  the  young  man's  eyelids  wilih  hig 
finger,  and  said — 

"  He  is  blind — the  soldier's  old  disease ;  we  know  the  pes- 
tilence well.  But  look  at  the  left  eye,  Major,  it  seems  to  me 
not  quite  gone." 

A  cry  of  joy  burst  fix)m  the  maiden^s  heart.  She  had 
watched  for  the  return  of  life  to  her  friend's  pale  face,  and 
had  perceived  with  beating  heart  a  gentle  colour  suffusing 
itself  over  his  cheeks.  Now  he  moved.  The  moment  he 
came  to  himself,  the  blind  man  touched  the  clothes  of  the  two 
strangers  who  had  been  assisting  him,  and  said  anxiously — 

"  Where  am  I  ?  what  has  happened  to  me  ?"  And  stretch- 
ing his  hand  farther  round  him,  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  alarm 
— "  Trien  1  Trien !  where  are  you?" 

The  girl  seized  his  hands,  and  said  exultingly — 

"  Oh,  John,  thank  God  that  you  are  here  I  It  is  a  great 
good  fortune ;  good  men  are  beside  you.  They  say,  too,  that 
your  left  eye  is  not  quite  dead." 

"  Whoever  you  are,  may  our  Lord  God  bless  you  for  your 
goodness  1"  said  the  lad. 

"  Comrade,"  interrupted  the  attendant,  "  we  shall  try 
whether  we  can  stand  now.  Only  have  courage,  and  you 
will  manage  it  easily." 

He  seized  the  soldier  under  the  left  arm,  while  the  old 
gentleman  supported  him  on  the  other  side,  and  thus  they 
raised  the  blind  man  to  his  feet.  Under  the  belief  that  tne 
attention  of  the  two  strangers  would  end  here,  Trien  smiled 
sweetly,  and  said,  with  a  bright  and  cheerful  look — 

"  Gentlemen,  I  am  a  poor  peasant  girl,  and  our  John,  too, 
is  not  rich  ;  but  be  assured  we  shall  our  whole  life  long  think 
of  you  in  our  prayers,  and  bless  you  for  your  kindness.  Give 
yourselves  no  more  trouble,  pray ;  let  him  sit  on  the  grass  to 
rest  himself  and  I  s  all  wrap  cloths  round  his  wounded  feet 


TBB  SECSXJIT.  f  1 

We  mnst  then  go  to  tlie  village,  where  we  shall  spend  the 
night.  May  God  send  you  health  and  happiness  on  earth 
and  afterwards  eternal  bliss  in  heaven  I " 

"  No,  no,  not  so,"  replied  the  old  man,;  "  follow  me.  You 
are  stout-hearted  both  of  you,  but  I  do  not  wish  you  to  fatigue 
yourselves  on  your  journey  home.  The  young  soldier  shall 
not  go  farther  till  he  has  regained  his  strength.  We  shall  see 
wnether  I  can  do  anything  to  reward  your  noble  self-sacaifice, 
my  child." 

"We  have  still  some  bottles  of  old  Spanish  wine  left," 
added  the  attendant,  "  which  might  restore  a  dead  man  to 
life  and  health.  That  is  all  the  medicine  he  needs.  Only 
wait  a  little,  my  daughter ;  in  an  hour  you  will  scarcely  know 
him  again." 

"  Ah,  sirs,"  stammered  the  girl,  "  do  as  your  Christian 
hearts  tell  you.  I  can  scarcely  speak,  I  feel  your  kindness  so 
deeply.     A  thousand,  thousand  thanks,  good,  dear  men  I" 

Supported  on  both  sides,  by  master  and  servant,  John  tot- 
tered on  with  slow  steps.  When  they  came  into  the  garden, 
Trien  went  by  the  servant's  side,  and  whispered — 

"  Tell  me,  friend,  is  your  master  a  doctor  ?" 

"  Doctor  I "  replied  the  servant ;  "  he  was  Chirurgien  Major 
under  Napoleon.  We  have  cut  off  more  legs  and  arms  than 
could  lie  here  on  this  path,  and  that  is  not  few." 

"  Can  he  cure  diseased  eyes  also,  friend  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  and  a  great  deal  better,  I  can  tell  you,  than 
the  surgeons  of  the  present  day.  There  are  very  few,  alas  I 
now  alive  of  the  brave  comrades  of  the  Peninsula,  else  many 
would  be  going  about  who  had  to  thank  him  for  their  eye- 
sight." 

"  Ah,  good  man  I  you  must  beg  him,  very  humbly,  to  look 
ftt  our  John's  eyes ;  perhaps  he  may  cure  them  I     God  knows." 

^  Keep  your  mind  at  ease,  my  daughter  \  he  will  do  that 


91  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFK. 

with  pleasure.  He  loves  soldiers.  Jolm  will  not  go  from 
this  yery  soon." 

"  And  if  yon  can  do  anything  in  the  matter,  or  put  in  a 
good  word,  I  shall  be  very  thankful  to  you." 

"  Yon  need  not  ask  me  to  do  that ;  I  shall  not  fail  to  do  so. 
*  Where  a  soldier,  there  a  comrade,'  says  the  proverb.  Do 
yon  see,  he  is  somewhat  better  already;  I  am  giving  him 
scarcely  any  support." 

They  stepped  over  the  threshold,  and  entered  a  beautifully 
furnished  room.  The  old  gentleman  led  the  blind  youth  to  a 
broad  arm-chair,  and  made  him  sit  down  with  his  back  to  the 
light.  He  then  gave  a  key  to  the  servant,  which  he  received 
with  manifest  pleasure,  and  quickly  left  the  room,  returning 
almost  immediately  with  a  bottle  and  some  glasses.  As  he 
passed,  he  whispered  in  the  maiden's  ear — 

"  It  is  the  wine  which  would  raise  the  dead.  You  shall  lee 
the  miracle  immediately." 

Trien  did  not  rightly  catch  what  he  said,  and  with  intensw 
curiosity  she  looked  at  the  old  gentleman,  who  was  now  put- 
ting a  glass  of  a  clear  red  liquid  to  the  young  man's  lips. 

"  Drink  this — and  take  a  hearty  draught,"  he  said ;  "  it 
will  refresh  you." 

"  Heavens  I  what  is  that?"  cried  the  blind  man  with  a«to- 
nishment,  some  moments  after  he  had  taken  the  drink  ;  "  how 
it  warms  me  within  I     Thanks,  thanks.     I  am  hungry  now." 

"  Gently,  comrade ;  not  so  fast,"  said  the  old  man ;  "  we 
shall  now  dress  your  feet,  and  then  examine  your  eyes.  Come, 
daughter — I  had  almost  forgotten  you,  my  dear  child — sit 
down  on  this  chair,  and,  Charles,  give  the  girl  a  glass  of 
wine." 

While  the  servant  was  engaged  with  Trien,  and  was  prais- 
ing to  her  the  wonder-working  qualities  of  the  Spanish  wine, 
tbe  old  man  had  bound  up  the  youth's  feet     He  now  washed 


tH£  RECBtJIT.  93 

iui  eyes  with  a  liquid,  and  anointed  them  with  a  white  salve. 
When  he  had  done  this,  he  went  to  the  window  and  let  the 
curtains  down,  to  soften  the  light ;  and  then  approaching  the 
soldier  again,  he  said — 

"Friend,  open  your  eyes,  and  try  whether  yon  can  dis- 
tinguish anything." 

John  opened  his  eyes,  and  remained  for  a  time  silent ;  al- 
though the  old  gentleman  asked  him  frequently  whether  he 
perceived  anything.  He  seemed  to  be  seeking  an  object  with 
his  dead  eyes. 

Suddenly  he  uttered  a  loud  cry,  and,  rising  from  his  chair, 
went  with  outstretched  arms  towards  Trien,  who  had  sprung 
from  her  seat,  and,  trembling  with  feverish  hope,  watched  him 
as  he  approached.  She  would  have  rushed  into  his  arms,  but 
the  servant  held  her  back. 

The  blind  man  advanced,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  her  with 
an  uncertain  motion,  saying  at  the  same  time,  with  a  low  and 
trembling  voice — 

"  Trien,  Trien,  I  am  not  blind  I  It  is  true  this  time  ;  I 
shall  once  more  see  mother,  grandfather,  and  Pawken.  Yes, 
I  see  that  you  have  your  red  neckerchief  on." 

The  maiden  embraced  him,  uttering  unintelligible  words, 
which  sounded  more  like  lamentations  than  expressions  of  joy. 
The  old  gentleman,  however,  took  the  young  man  from  her, 
and  made  her  sit  down  again  calmly  on  the  chair.  He  then 
immediately  tied  the  shade  before  the  soldier's  eyes,  saying — 

"  You  said  that  you  saw  that  your  friend  had  a  red  necker* 
chief  on.  It  seems  to  me  impossible  that  you  could  distinguish 
the  colour  ;  you  are  surely  deceiving  yourself." 

"  I  see  nothing  but  a  gray  shadow,"  replied  the  soldier ; 
"  but  when  growing  blind,  I  observed  that  red  seemed  much 
blacker  in  the  dark  than  other  colours ;  and  in  this  way  I 
know  that  her  neckerchief  is  red." 


911  TAT'TB't  07  FLEMISH  IXE*E» 

"So  I  ihouglit,''  the  old  gentleman  remarlced,  **We 
shall  now  go  prudently  and  carefully  to  work.  Charles, 
take  our  comrade  into  the  kitchen,  and  let  him  have  a 
little  bread  and  meat — ^half  rations  only,  no  more  at  pre- 
sent— ^then  lead  him  into  the  back  room,  that  he  may  go 
to  bed  and  rest.  Tell  the  maid-servant  to  bring  some 
food  for  the  girl  at  the  same  time." 

So  soon  as  the  servant  had  left  the  room  with  the  soldier, 
Trien  fell  at  the  old  man's  feet  with  loud  sobs,  and  embrac- 
ed his  knees  speechlessly,  moistening  them  with  her  teai-s. 
He  endeavoured  to  raise  her  up,  but  she  resisted  him,  and, 
turning  her  bright  blue  eyes  upon  his  face,  she  exclaimed — 

**  Oh,  sir,  sir,  God  will  reward  you  for  having  shown  such 
kindness  to  poor  peasant  people.  I  cannot  say  all  I  feel;  but 
I  would  willingly  die  ten  years  before  my  time,  if  it  would 
procure  for  you  a  longer  life.  And  because  you  mean  to  cure 
our  John's  eyes,  angel  of  God  that  you  are !  we  shall  pray 
every  day  for  you,  and  make  a  pilgrimage  besides,  dear  sir  1" 

The  old  gentleman  raised  the  girl  from  the  ground,  and 
addressing  to  her  kind  and  comforting  words,  he  led  her 
to  the  table,  where  the  maid-servant  had  already  placed  a 
refreshment. 

Either  from  over-fatigue  or  emotion,  Trien  could  eat 
very  little;  she  paused  in  a  few  moments,  and  then  gazed 
at  her  benefactor  with  an  earnest,  calm,  and  grateful  look 
He  was  seated  near  her,  and  was  trying  to  induce  her  to 
eat;  but  when  he  perceived  that  she  would  take  no  more, 
he  took  her  hand  and  said — 

"Now,  tell  me  from  what  place  you  come,  and  how  it 
happens  that  you  are  travelling  alone  with  a  blind  soldier, 
and  whether  you  have  parents,  and  where  they  dwell  ?  " 

"With  a  natural  and  simple  eloquence,  the  young  girl  be- 
gan to  tell  him  about  the  mud-huts,  the  lot-drawing,  the  old 


TBB  BECBUIT.  fi 

mother,  the  grandfather,  Pawken,  and  the  separation.  When 
■he  came  to  tell  him,  however,  all  that  she  had  suffered  in  her 
efforts  to  find  her  blind  friend  in  Venloo ;  how  she  had  nearly 
fainted  for  joy  when  the  officer  gave  her  permission  to  take 
the  unhappy  man  home  with  her ;  how  she  dreamt  of  our  dear 
Lady,  in  the  little  room  of  the  farm-house,  and  all  that  they 
had  said  to  one  another  by  the  way ;  then  the  old  man  was 
overpowered  by  deep  emotion,  and  now  and  then  wiped  a  tear 
•f  sympathy  from  his  eye.  The  sweet  tones  of  the  maiden's 
Toice  had  an  irresistible  effect  upon  him,  and  he  wondered  at 
her  rare  self-sacrifice  and  love.  She  concealed  nothing  from 
him,  but  told  him,  honestly  and  openly,  all  her  plans — her 
marriage  with  the  blind  man,  and  all  which  she  had  promised 
to  him  and  expected  to  be  able  to  fulfil,  with  a  view  to  sweeten 
his  bitter  lot ;  she  even  told  him  what  John  had  promised  to 
do  for  her,  if  through  God's  goodness  he  regained  his  sight. 

The  affecting  tale  had  lasted  for  a  considerable  time,  and 
the  old  man  had  listened  attentively  without  interrupting  her. 
When  the  girl  had  concluded,  with  an  expression  of  deep 
gratitude  to  him,  and  seemed  waiting  for  some  remark,  he 
•aid  nothing  for  some  time,  but  sat  with  downcast  eyes,  sunk 
in  deep  reflection.     In  a  few  minutes  he  raised  his  head — 

"  You  have  done  rightly,  my  daughter,"  he  said.  "  You 
are  a  virtuous,  noble-minded  girl  I  So,  your  dream  of  future 
life  wag,  that  by  working  day  and  night  you  would  get  on 
happily  together.  Your  ambition  was  to  mitigate  the  misery 
of  blindness  to  your  friend — his  to  reward  you  for  your  great 
love ;  and  the  desire  of  both  of  you  to  make  the  last  days  of 
your  aged  parents  peaceful  and  happy  ?  It  is  well ;  God  has 
heard  your  prayers.  He  it  is  who  has  led  you  hither,  and 
has  commissioned  me  to  do  a  good  work.  I  will  devote  all 
my  experience  to  the  cure  of  your  friend's  left  eye,  and  I 
hsYo  good  grounds  to  believe  that  I  shall  be  lacceesfuL    jka 


wo  TALES  OF  FLiSMISH  LIFB. 

to  other  things,  keep  yonr  mind  at  ease.  Your  noble  dreaa 
shall  be  realized.  To-night  you  sleep  here.  To-morrcjir  W9 
shall  see  what  is  to  be  done.  Meanwhile  you  may  take  re- 
pose, or  walk  in  the  garden,  and  if  you  wish  anything,  yoa 
have  only  to  ask  it  from  the  maid-servant,  or  my  attendant ; 
they  are  good  people  who  will  be  eager  to  serve  you.  I 
shall  now  leave  you  till  the  evening." 

Trien  gazed  after  the  old  man  as  he  left  the  room,  unable 
to  utter  a  word  in  reply.  After  a  time,  she  went  out,  and 
wandered  about  the  garden  with  a  cheerful  mind,  thinking 
on  the  occurrences  of  the  day,  and  on  what  the  old  gentleman 
had  said  to  her. 


Next  forenoon  a  carriage  left  the  garden-gate  of  the  country 
house.  On  the  foremost  seat  sat  the  servant  with  the  great 
scar  on  his  face,  whistling  a  merry  air,  and  cracking  a 
large  whip.  On  the  back-seat  sat  the  young  man,  with 
the  green  shade  over  his  eyes,  and  beside  him,  the  now  light- 
hearted  Trien.  She  quietly  pressed  his  hand,  and  whispered 
in  his  ear — 

"  Oh,  John,  we  are  happy — ^very  happy,  are  we  not?  My 
beautiful  dream  is  now  come  true.  Oh,  how  joyftil  will  your 
mother  be  now  I  And  you,  too,  will  soon  be  quite  well  again, 
for  the  old  gentleman  has  assured  us  of  it.  How  will  they 
all  wonder  too,  when  they  see  us  drive  up  in  a  beautiful  car- 
riage, like  barons  I" 

"  We  shall  go  by  Gierle  and  Wechel-ter-Zande,"  said  the 
servant,  "  and  so  to  Zoersel.  Then  you  must  show  me  the 
way ;  and  now  off  we  go." 

He  gave  the  horse  the  rein,  calling  out — 

"  Hopla,  Marengo,  forward !  march  ! " 

The  dust  of  the  highway  rose  like  a  cloud,  and  the  carriag* 
disappeared  among  the  houses  of  the  villa^ 


ns  XBCBOR. 


CHAPTEB  VIIL 

One  d*y  as  I  was  wandering  in  perfect  solitude  oyer  the 
heath,  with  my  soul  open  to  the  poetic  impresses  of  nature,  a 
itorm  arose  in  the  west. 

It  is  a  wonderful,  a  fearful  thing,  to  find  one's-self  on  a  hot 
summer's  day  on  an  open  plain,  when  lurid,  lightning-laden 
vapours  are  slowly  gathering  into  thunder-clouds  in  the  limit- 
less heaven.  One  would  think  that  nature  had  been  suddenly 
smitten  with  a  mortal  agony ;  the  sun  pales,  and  emits  feeble 
rays ;  the  air  grows  sultry ;  the  birds  fly  home — and  every 
animal  skulks  away  with  terror ;  the  bees  shoot  like  arrows 
through  the  air  to  reach  their  hives ;  every  leaf  is  at  rest,  and 
the  wind  holds  its  breath  for  a  time ;  the  little  herbs  cloie 
their  leaves  and  blossoms,  and  all  Nature  waits  m  still  antici- 
pation of  some  awful  event.  An  indescribable  feeling  of 
mingled  wonder,  pain,  and  reverence,  weighs  upon  the  poet'i 
heart ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  the  universal  fear,  his  soul  alone 
exults  because  it  is  given  to  him  to  behold  this  terrible  wonder 
of  nature  in  its  full  majesty. 

But  soon  the  clouds  rush  confusedly  together ;  what  has 
lain  for  hours  calmly  in  the  sky  now  gathers  in  wild  career, 
and  bursts  into  a  storm.  The  hurricane  rages  and  roars  as  if 
lashed  into  fury  by  the  hand  of  the  Almighty ;  it  tears  from 
the  fir- woods  a  low  howl  of  agony ;  whirls  aloft  clouds  of  sand 
and  leaves,  and  breaks  to  pieces  or  uproots  the  solitary  and 


fi  TALES  OF  FLEUIgR  LZTI. 

unsheltered  trees.  Then  comes  the  thnnder  and  diowiis  erwy 
other  sound  with  its  mighty  voice ;  through  the  spacious  air 
the  lightning  shoots  its  flaming  arrows ;  the  heath  seems  to 
be  on  fire  with  the  fiery  serpents  which  are  sweeping  oyer  its 
breast ;  torrents  of  water  pour  down  upon  the  earth,  and,  in 
the  intervals  of  the  thunder's  roar,  the  monotonous  dull  plash 
of  the  falling  rain  is  heard. 

On  this  day  my  soul  was  stirred  to  poetic  contemplations ; 
I  had  beheld  with  more  than  ordinary  pleasure  the  grand  spec- 
tacle of  this  fever  of  nature,  till  the  frequent  flashes  of  light- 
ning reminded  me  that  I  must  do  what  every  Hving  creature 
had  already  done — seek  shelter,  and  hide  my  head  in  humility 
before  the  wonders  of  the  Creator.  Not  far  from  the  spot 
where  I  was,  stood  a  farm-house,  alone  upon  the  heath,  like  an 
oasis  in  the  desert  surrounded  by  green  fields  and  fresh  woods. 

Scarcely  had  the  rain  begun  to  pour  down  like  another 
deluge,  when  I  entered  the  door  of  the  farm-house  and  asked 
permission  to  shelter  myself  under  its  roof.  I  foimd  the  inhabi- 
tants kneeling  in  prayer  surrounded  by  the  deepest  silence. 
The  farmer  was  the  only  one  whom  my  entrance  disturbed, 
and,  as  soon  as  he  had  pointed  to  a  chair  with  a  friendly  smile, 
with  bended  head  and  folded  hands  he  resumed  his  prayer. 
I  know  not  how  it  was,  but  though  the  storm,  as  being  a 
useful  natural  phenomenon,  did  not  affect  me  with  that  mys- 
terious terror  which  made  these  people  tremble,  it  yet  seemed 
to  me  so  beautiful,  so  touching,  and  so  heavenly — ^this  calm 
family  devotion,  that  an  irresistible  feeling  constrained  me  to 
unite  with  these  simple  peasants  in  adoration  of  that  God  whose 
voice,  high  above  us,  resounded  through  the  sky.  I  un- 
covered, and,  with  folded  hands,  I  likewise  knelt  and  prayed. 
It  did  my  soul  good  to  find  once  more  this  pure  emotion  of 
my  childhood,  as  if  the  withering  breath  of  the  disenchanting 
vorld  had  never  touched  my  heart 


jyter  a  time,  the  storm  began  to  pass  awaj.  The  mhabit- 
ants  of  the  cottage,  however,  did  not  cease  to  pray,  and  thus 
left  me  time  to  look  at  them  all  attentively,  as  a&  observer  of 
human  nature,  and  above  all  an  author,  loves  to  do. 

There  was  an  aged  grandfather  who  might  have  reached 
his  ninetieth  year  or  more,  for  his  head  and  hands  trembled 
continually  as  if  he  had  an  ague-fever.  Beside  him  were  two 
women,  also  advanced  in  years ;  further  off,  a  powerful-look- 
ing man,  who  had  lost  his  right  eye,  which  rolled  like  a  white 
ball  under  his  black  eyebrow,  while  the  left  sparkled  with  a 
genial  kindliness  and  vivacity.  By  his  side  sat  a  young  woman 
with  a  child  on  her  lap,  and  at  her  feet  a  little  boy  and  girl  of 
seven  or  eight  years ;  and  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  table,  a 
fine-looking  young  man,  with  blooming  countenance  and 
bright-blue  eyes. 

On  a  signal  given  by  the  one-eyed  man,  all  rose.  The 
grandfather  went  with  tottering  steps  to  the  comer  of  the 
hearth  and  sat  down,  while  the  others  directed  their  atten- 
tion to  me,  requesting  me  to  use  their  house  as  shelter  while 
the  storm  lasted — for  it  still  rained  heavily.  In  a  short  time, 
I  was  on  quite  intimate  terms  with  these  good  people,  and 
chatted  with  them  like  a  long-known  friend.  In  the  after- 
noon, I  shared  with  them  the  nutritious  rye-bread,  and  drank 
the  coffee  of  welcome.  And  as  I  had  nothing  better  to  do  at 
that  time  than  to  listen  to  the  pleasant  stories  which  the  man 
with  the  one  eye  and  his  wife  told  me,  I  did  not  leave  the 
form-house  till  the  following  morning. 

What  I  have  related  to  you  in  this  history,  dear  readers,  I 
heard  that  night  in  that  lonely  farm-house,  which  formerly 
consisted  of  two  mud-huts,  but  has  now  become  a  fine  home- 
stead, with  four  cows  and  two  horses.  John  Biaems  and 
Trien,  his  noble-hearted  wife,  work  for  each  other  as  they  had 
Towed  to  do.    And  God  has  blessed  their  love ;  three  chil- 


100  TALES  OF  FLEIUSH  LIFB. 

dren  play  around  them,  and  lighten  their  daily  toil  with  theb 
affectionate  caresses. 

All  are  still  alive  ;  the  grandfather,  though  with  one  foot 
in  the  grave,  still  smokes  his  little  pipe  by  the  fireside ;  both 
mothers  are  happy  in  the  happiness  of  their  children,  and  are 
still  active  in  looking  after  the  cattle  and  helping  in  the  honse- 
work.  Pawken,  a  fine-looking  youth,  now  takes  care  of  the 
horses  and  plough,  and  works  for  his  brother ;  but  next  Easter 
he  is  to  marry  the  younger  sister  of  the  wooden  shoemaker's 
Kate. 

Every  evening  the  whole  family  prays  for  the  old  doctor ; 
for  it  was  he  who  restored  John's  sight,  and  it  was  he  who,  by 
his  benevolent  aid,  converted  the  mud-huts  into  &  substantial 
farm-house. 

May  Gk)d  grant  to  the  Generous  and  the  Grateful  a  loi^ 
Mbd  happy  life  here  below  I 


MINE  HOST  GANSENDONCK. 


INTBODUCTION. 


Im  a  village  between  Hoogstraten  and  Calmpthout,  in  tht 
Antwerp  Kempen,  dwelt  Peer  Gansendonck,  mine  host  of  th« 
Bt.  Sebastian. 

I  first  became  acquainted  with  him  in  1830,  when  I  was  a 
soldier :  at  that  time,  however,  I  knew  nothing  more  of  him 
than  that  peasants  and  common  soldiers  were  his  aversion,  and 
that  he  had  a  very  weak  side  for  officers.  I  remember  ho 
was  excessively  angry  with  the  burgomaster  because  he  had 
received  the  captain  of  the  company  into  his  house,  while  the 
other  three  officers  were  the  guests  respectively  of  the  baro% 
the  notary,  and  the  doctor ;  leaving  poor  Peer  Gansendonck  no 
more  important  personage  to  entertain  than  your  most  humble 
servant  the  sergeant-major. 

I  was  in  the  habit  of  filling  up  my  idle  hours  with  the 
manufacture  of  pretty  toys  of  all  kinds  for  little  Lisa,  mine 
host's  daughter,  a  child  of  five.  She  was  a  delicate  girl,  and 
■eeaed  slowly  pining  away ;  but  there  wm  something  so  lovelj 


lOi  TALES  OF  FLEIOSH  UFM, 

in  Ker  angel-eyes,  sometliing  so  pure  in  her  marble  featureii 
and  so  sweetly  plaintive  in  her  small  voice,  that  I  fonnd  a 
kind  of  pleasure  in  comforting  and  delighting  the  sickly  little 
lamb  with  games,  and  songs,  and  tales. 

How  bitterly  did  little  Lisa  weep,  how  fast  flowed  the  tears 
over  her  cheeks,  when  the  drums  beat  a  last  farewell,  and  her 
kind  friend  the  sergeant-major,  with  knapsack  on  back,  stood 
yonder  in  marching  order,  about  to  leave  her  for  ever  I  But 
such  sorrows  pass  quickly  from  a  child's  soul.  From  that 
time  little  Lisa  never  occupied  my  thoughts ;  and  she,  with- 
out doubt,  had  entirely  forgotten  me. 

A  short  time  ago  my  wanderings  led  me  through  the 
Kempen,  and  again  I  found  myself  in  the  same  village. 

I  entered  it  without  the  slightest  anticipation.  Scarcely, 
however,  had  I  observed  the  church,  the  houses,  and  the  trees, 
than  a  smile  of  surprise  overspread  my  face,  and  my  breast 
heaved  with  a  pleasing  emotion.  It  was  the  old  sign  over 
the  inn  door  which  in  an  especial  manner  affected  me.  Ovw* 
powered,  I  hung  my  head,  and  stood  for  a  while  motionless  fa# 
enjoy  the  flood  of  youthful  memories  which,  like  a  warm 
beneficent  stream,  flowed  through  my  brain. 

How  strong  and  impressible  must  be  our  soul  in  youth, 
making  as  it  does  all  the  circumstances  of  our  earlier  years  an 
eternal  possession,  and  surrounding  them  with  a  sacred  halo 
of  love  !  People,  trees,  houses,  words — everything,  living  or 
lifeless,  becomes  a  part  of  our  own  being ;  on  every  object  we 
hang  some  memory,  beautiful  and  sweet  as  youth  itself.  Our 
soul  overflows  with  power — it  beams  the  fire  and  lightning  of 
its  own  life  over  all  creation ;  and  while  we  exult  with  unre- 
strained feelings  at  the  happiness  which  awaits  us  as  children 
or  youths,  everything  in  nature  sings  and  rejoices  in  nnison 
with  us. 

Ah  I  how  I  love  the  meadows,  the  Ume-treei,  the  fium* 


MINE  HOBT  GANSENDOKCK.  108 

home,  tlie  church,  and  all  the  other  objects  which  greeted  me 
when  the  roses  of  youth  and  the  lilies  of  the  purity  and  poetry 
of  life  adorned  my  head  1  You  have  enjoyed  what  I  enjoyed 
then ;  I  saw  them  luxuriate  in  green,  blossom  and  smile  in 
the  sunshine,  when  I  was  light  of  heart,  and  was  entering  too 
confidently  on  the  unknown  path  of  human  destiny.  They 
are  the  old  companions  of  my  play — my  familiar  friends :  each 
object  has  some  charming  tale  to  tell  me ;  they  speak  the  utter- 
ance of  my  heart,  and  the  finest  chords  of  my  soul  respond  to 
their  call  with  all  the  life  of  youth.  And  with  a  calm  and 
holy  emotion,  I  thank  God  that  He  has  permitted  the  sweet 
wells  of  memory  to  spring  fresh  in  the  jaded  heart  of  world- 
weary  man. 

Standing  before  the  tavern  door,  I  was  charmed  back  into 
other  and  better  times.  Again  I  saw  my  comrades  and 
officers ;  the  distant  drum  rolled  in  my  ear ;  I  heard  the  loud 
word  of  command ;  the  soldier's  farewell  song  died  away  be- 
yond the  houses,  and  the  trumpet  resounded  among  the  trees. 
But  more  vividly  than  all  the  rest,  little  Lisa's  calm  angel 
form  seemed  to  smile  to  me  out  of  the  past. 

The  thotfcght  of  man  hastens  more  swiftly  through  the  world 
of  ideas  than  the  lightning  through  space.  For  about  ono 
minute  only  had  I  yielded  myself  to  these  emotions,  and  al- 
ready five  beautiftd  months  of  my  life  had  passed  before  my 
eyes. 

With  high  anticipation  and  cheerful  countenance,  I  entered 
the  inn  door.  I  would  see  Lisa.  She  could  not  recognise 
me,  I  well  knew,  for  the  child  must  be  a  beautiful  woman 
now ;  the  sight  of  her^  however,  I  thought,  would  give  me 
pleasure.  But  in  the  days  when  she  first  charmed  me  she  wai 
a  sickly  child,  and  perhaps,  long  ere  this,  she  lies  in  the  quiet 
churchyard.  Away  with  such  hateful  thoughts,  with  wbioh 
eold  reason  would  destroy  these  warm  memoriee  I 


101  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LDHL 

Bnt  now  sad  and  strange  is  eyerything  to  me  here  in  tib 

St.  Sebastian!  Everything  is  altered,  people  and  things, 
"Where  is  mine  host  ?  where  is  little  Lisa  ?  where  the  folding 
table,  on  which  I  and  my  companions  so  often  played  for  a 

can  of  beer?     All  are  gone  I Poor  little  Lisa!     I  see  the 

comer  of  the  window  where  yon  nsed  to  lie  with  yonr  head 
on  your  mother's  lap,  and  where  I  nsed  to  make  you  so  happy 
with  a  carriage  made  of  cards  drawn  by  four  cockchafers,  and 
where  your  languid  look  seemed  to  me  a  prayer  of  thankful- 
ness for  my  kindness. 

I  had  entirely  forgotten  everything,  never  suspecting  that 
I  should  ever  revisit  these  scenes.  But  now  forms  and  voices 
rise  around  me ;  I  see,  I  hear  everything  again  ;  everything 
is  again  young  and  smiling — even  my  heart,  which  returns 
into  harmony  with  these  well-known  and  beloved  objects. 

Sweet  little  Lisa !  who  would  have  thought,  when  I  was 
delighting  your  little  soul  with  childish  tales,  that  I  should 
one  day  narrate  your  history  to  my  fellow-countrymen  ? 

Life  is  like  one  of  those  gigantic  streams  of  America,  whicL 
for  a  long  distance  rolls  calmly  down  between  smiling  bankm 
then  suddenly  precipitates  itself  from  some  high  rock,  am^ 
with  noisy  waves  rolls  on  in  its  stormy  and  destructive  cours< , 
Man  is  a  straw  which  floats  upon  the  stream  :  the  calm  pro 
gress  between  blooming  banks  is  youth ;  human  society  is  tho 
roaring  waterfall  and  the  turbid  current,  in  which  the  indi- 
vidual is  swept  along  like  a  straw.  He  slips,  he  falls,  rises 
and  sinks  again ;  is  tortured,  bruised,  broken,  worn  to  death. 
Who  can  tell  on  what  ooast  the  poor  straw  will  be  thrown  ? 


nan  BOAT  aANSEMDOXOK.  101 


CHAPTER  L 


'  Vothlng  wlib  wmtthlBii 
Hakfli  nothing  of  somtttblnf.'' 


Baab  Gansendonck  was  a  peculiar  man.  Althongk 
■prong  from  the  humblest  villagers,  he  had  early  fancied  that 
he  was  made  of  quite  other  stuff  than  the  rest  of  peasants ; 
that  he  alone  knew  more  than  a  whole  host  of  learned  mem ; 
that  the  affairs  of  the  community  had  fallen  into  confusion^ 
and  were  fast  retrograding,  merely  because  he  was  not  burgo- 
master :  and  many  other  things  of  this  kind. 

And  yet  the  poor  man  could  neither  read  nor  write,  amd 
had  forgotten  nothing  because  he  had  nothing  to  forget.  But 
he  had  plenty  of  money. 

In  this  respect  at  least  he  was  like  many  people  of  distinc- 
tion, whose  intellect  lies  in  a  chest  at  the  back  of  the  cajrtle, 
or  whose  wisdom  is  lent  out  at  five  per  cent,  and,  with  the  in- 
terest, comes  fresh  into  their  head  every  year.  The  inhabit- 
ants of  the  village,  feeling  themselves  daily  insulted  by  thii 
ridiculous  fancy  on  the  part  of  mine  host,  had  gradually  ac- 
quired a  deep  hatred  of  him,  and  nicknamed  him  '^  Swagger- 
ing Jack." 

The  landlord  of  the  St.  Sebastian  wa«  a  widower,  and  had 
only  one  child,  a  daughter  of  eighteen  or  nineteen.  She  wai 
ft  slender  and  pale-faced  girl;  but  with  a  countenance  w 
tender  and  refined,  and  a  nature  so  lovely  and  iweet,  that 
•he  Attracted  the  eyei  of  many  a  young  man.    Her  fktlMff 


IOC  TALES  OF  FLKMISH  Ltn. 

in  his  follj  considered  ber  far  too  good,  too  refined,  and  tot 
beautiful  to  marry  a  peasant's  son.  He  bad  sent  ber  for 
■ome  years  to  an  educational  institution  to  learn  Frencb  and 
fine  manners,  as  became  ber  bigb  destiny.  Happily  Lisa, 
or  Liescben,  as  tbe  peasants  called  ber,  returned  as  simple  as 
sbe  went.  Tbe  seeds  of  vanity  and  levity,  it  is  true,  bad 
been  sown  in  ber  mind,  tbougb  bappily  in  small  measure; 
but  tbe  natural  purity  of  ber  beart  did  not  permit  tbe  dan- 
gerous seed  to  take  root  and  grow  up,  wbile  ber  maiden  inno- 
cence gave  a  cbarm  even  to  tbe  indications  wbicb  occasionally 
appeared  of  tbe  training  sbe  bad  received,  and  indeed  mad« 
everytbing  in  ber  loveable.  As  usual,  sbe  bad  received  only 
a  balf  education :  sbe  understood  Frencb  pretty  well,  but  spoke 
it  very  imperfectly.  On  tbe  otker  band,  sbe  could  embroider 
very  prettily,  make  beautiful  slippers  and  cusbions,  knit  with 
beads,  cut  out  flowers  in  paper,  say  a  very  cbarming  good-day, 
courtesy  and  bow,  dance  very  artistically,  and  bad  many  otber 
fancy  accomplisbments,  wbicb  suited  ber  father's  peasant 
bome  as  well  as,  according  to  tbe  proverb,  a  lace  collar  does 
a  cow's  neck. 

From  cbildbood  it  bad  been  understood  tbat  Lisa  was  to 
marry  Cbarles  tbe  brewer's  son,  one  of  tbe  finest-looking  young 
men  far  and  wide.  For  a  villager,  be  was  wealthy  and  well 
educated,  for  be  bad  attended  tbe  gymnasium  at  Hoogstraten 
for  some  years.  Study,  meanwhile,  bad  little  altered  him :  ho 
loved  as  much  as  ever  the  unrestrained  freedom  of  country  life ; 
was  as  merry  as  a  bird ;  drank  and  sang  with  everybody,  but 
always  in  moderation  and  with  propriety ;  was  full  of  genia] 
life,  and  conducted  himself  towards  bis  acquaintances  like  a 
right  steady  friend  and  comrade.  On  account  of  tbe  early 
death  of  his  father,  be  bad  left  the  gymnasium  to  help  bis 
mother  in  conducting  tbe  brewery;  and  tbe  old  woman 
thanked  Gk>d  daily  that  He  had  sdren  ber  lo  good  a  loii  to 


man  host  aAnsENDONCK.  IQf 


her;  for  a  more  mdnstrions  aod  regaiar  jotmg 
eonld  nowhere  be  found. 

Only  m  Lisa's  presence  did  Charles  lose  his  customary  ease, 
and  sink  into  vague  poetic  dreams.  When  sitting  by  the  be- 
loved girl  he  became  little  better  than  a  child,  found  pleasure  in 
the  most  insignificant  of  her  occupations,  and  adapted  himself 
to  her  smallest  wishes  with  a  kind  of  religious  obedience :  she 
was  so  tender,  so  weak,  so  beautiful, — -and  his  bride.  He,  the 
vigorous  and  manly  youth,  treated  this  gentle  being  with  such 
jealous  attention  and  anxious  care,  that  one  might  have  thought 
he  had  been  intrusted  with  the  life  of  a  fadhig  flower. 

For  five  or  six  months  Host  Gansendonck  had  offered  no 
objections  to  his  daughter  becoming  Charles's  wife.  His 
pride,  to  be  sure,  was  not  satisfied  with  it;  still,  a  rich 
brewer's  son  was  no  mere  peasant,  at  any  rate,  he  thought. 
Besides,  he  did  not  wish  to  break  his  long-given  promise,  and 
accordingly  agreed  that  preparations  should  be  made  for  the 
approaching  nuptials. 

Everything  was  going  well  with  the  young  people,  when  our 
host's  unmarried  brother  died  of  a  fever  and  left  a  fine  property 
behind  him,  which  soon  after  became  added,  in  the  shape  of 
hard  cash,  to  other  money-sacks  in  the  strong  room  of  the  St. 
Sebastian.  Peer  Gansendonck  shared  the  belief  of  many  people, 
that  the  intellect,  the  worth  and  excellence  of  a  man,  is  to  be 
measured  by  his  wealth ;  and  although  he  knew  no  English, 
he  had  yet  stumbled  on  the  elevated  and  peculiarly  English 
notion  implied  in  the  question,  "  How  many  pounds  sterling 
is  he  worth?"  ITie  reply  is  irresistible  in  the  words  of  the 
M  Flemish  rhyme — 

Ib  dtunb  gold 
What  Tirtae  lies! 
Makes  yotmg  the  old, 
Til*  orook«d  stnigbt^ 


TALIS  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

It  stands  to  reason,  then,  that  with  such  a  notion  of  life 
his  pride,  or  I  should  rather  say  his  insanity,  was  likely  to 
increase  with  his  wealth.  He  now  considered  himself  as  good 
at  least  as  the  baron  of  the  village,  for  he  imagined  that  he 
was  worth  quite  as  many  pounds  as  the  noble  proprietor. 

From  this  day  forward  our  host's  brains  became  more  dis- 
erdered  than  ever,  and  he  considered  himself  the  first  man  in 
the  country.  He  often  dreamt  all  night  that  he  was  of  a 
noble  race;  and  even  by  day,  flattering  thoughts  passed 
through  his  head  perpetually.  In  order  to  bring  his  fancied 
excellence  to  a  sober  test,  he  laboured  at  times  to  bring  out 
the  precise  difference  between  himself  and  a  nobleman,  but 
*ould  never  find  any.  He  was  conscious,  to  be  sure,  that  he 
was, too  old  to  learn  French,  or  alter  his  way  of  life  entirely 
and  enter  into  higher  circles  of  society ;  at  the  same  time,  if 
he  could  not  do  that,  he  was  determined  that  his  daughter  at 
least  should  look  higher,  and  marry  the  first  baron  who  came 
in  her  way.  What  a  charming  prospect  for  Peer  Gansen- 
donck  I  Before  he  died  he  should  have  the  pleasure  of  hear- 
ing his  daughter  addressed  as  My  Lady  Baroness  1  Nay,  he 
himself  would  actually  be  the  grandfather  of  little  barons  1 

On  this  account  Charles  the  brewer's  attachment  to  Lisa 
began  to  give  him  serious  uneasiness ;  and  indeed  he  looked 
upon  the  fine  young  fellow  as  standing  in  the  way  of  his 
daughter's  prospects.  Already,  in  Lisa's  presence,  he  had  more 
than  once  uttered  words  of  depreciation  about  Charles,  and  on 
one  occasion  said  things  which  hurt  the  poor  child's  feeling! 
so  much,  that  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  boldly  contra- 
dicted him,  and  then  for  full  two  hours  shed  bitter  tears. 

After  this,  he  gave  up  all  direct  opposition  to  the  brewer's 
love,  but  he  determined  to  postpone  the  marriage  till  Lisa 
should  of  her  own  accord  open  her  eyes,  and  see  that  Charlei 
WM  only  a  coarse  peasant  like  the  rest 


HOST  GAHaSNDONGX.  109 


OHAPTBB  IL 


'  Whose  braftd  I  «ai 
HlsaongliiDc." 


Jm  the  coartyard  of  the  St.  Sebastian,  the  domestics  and 
lay-labourers  had  been  busy  with  their  usual  occupations 
lince  daybreak.  Trees  the  dairymaid  stood  at  the  trough 
irashing  turnips  for  the  cattle ;  in  the  open  bam  was  heard 
<he  measured  beat  of  the  flail,  and  the  stable-boy  sang  a  rude 
long  while  currying  the  horses. 

One  man  alone  walked  idly  up  and  down  smoking  his  pipe^ 
4nd  stopping  now  and  then  to  observe  the  others  at  work. 
He  was  clothed  like  a  day-labourer,  and  wore  a  jerkin  and 
wooden  shoes.  Although  his  face  when  at  rest  expressed  a 
lazy  indifference,  there  looked  from  his  eyes  a  certain  shrewd- 
ness and  cunning.  For  the  rest,  one  could  easily  see  from  his 
plump  cheeks  and  red  nose  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  sitting 
at  a  good  table,  and  knew  the  way  to  the  cellar. 

The  dairymaid  stopped  washing  her  turnips,  and  went  to- 
wards the  barn,  where  the  threshers  were  spreading  soma 
fresh  sheaves,  and  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  have 
a  little  chat.     The  man  with  the  pipe  was  by. 

"  Kobe  I  Kobe  I "  cried  the  dairymaid  to  him,  **  you  at  least 
have  drawn  a  lucky  number.  Here  we  are,  working  ourselvei 
to  death  from  morning  to  night,  and  instead  of  reward  get  a 
scolding  for  our  pains  when  all  is  done.  You  have  the  wind 
behind  you :  you  walk  about  at  your  ease  smoking  your  pipe, 


110  TALM  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

are  tlie  landlord's  friend,  and  get  the  best  food  that's  goingi 
You  must  confess  that  your  bread  has  fallen  in  honey." 

Kob^  smiled  roguishly,  and  answered — 

"  To  have  is  to  have,  and  to  get  is  the  art :  fortune  haa 
wings  and  flies,  and  he  who  catches  her  has  her." 

"  To  flatter  is  to  lie,  and  a  fawning  fellow  is  little  better 
than  a  knave,"  muttered  one  of  the  day-workers  sharply. 

"  Words  are  not  knives,"  laughed  Kobe.  "  Everybody  in 
the  world  is  bound  to  do  good  to  his  father's  son ;  and  he  who 
finds  anything  let  him  pick  it  up." 

"  I  would  be  ashamed  of  myself,"  cried  the  enraged  worker. 
"There  is  no  great  art  in  cutting  thongs  out  of  another's 
-eather,  and  a  sucking  pig  grows  fat  without  working  I" 

"  It  makes  one  dog  angry  to  see  another  go  into  the  kit- 
then,"  said  Kobe  jestingly.  "  Dishes,  that  are  not  alike,  make 
bad  brothers,  and  it  is  better  to  be  envied  than  pitied.  And 
since  one  must  sit  down  in  this  world,  I  had  rather  sit  on 
cushions  than  on  thorns." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  shark,  and  remember  that  it  is  on 
our  sweat  that  you  fatten ! " 

"  Tisty,  Tisty,  why  so  sharp  with  me  ?  You  can't  bear  to 
see  the  sun  shining  on  my  pond.  Do  you  not  know  the  pro- 
verb, *  He  who  envies  another  tears  his  own  heart,  and  wastes 
his  time'?  KI  were  anything  less,  would  you  be  anything 
more?  Am  I  proud?  do  I  ever  do  an  ill-natured  thing? 
On  the  contrary,  when  the  landlord  is  coming,  I  smuggle 
oflf  many  a  good  can  of  beer  into  the  cellar  for  you.  Yon  are 
seeking  where  nobody  has  lost,  Tisty." 

"  Yes,  yes,  we  know  the  worth  of  your  benevolence.  Yon 
are  like  the  minister  who  blessed  everybody,  bnt  himself 
first." 

"  He  was  quite  right,  and  I  too.  He  who  serves  the  altsf 
HOBt  live  by  the  altar." 


MDfE  HOST  OAHSBHDOROK.  Ill 

**  Quite  true,"  cried  another  worker.  "Kobd  is  a  good 
fellow,  and  I  wish  I  were  in  his  shoes ;  then  should  I  too  earm 
my  bread  while  blowing  smoke  to  the  crows.  *  A  full  belly 
if  a  heart  at  ease.' " 

"  Ay,  thick-paunch,  sleepy-feet  I  A  full  stomach,  an  empty 
head." 

"  Let  them  talk  on,  Kobd.  It  is  not  every  one  that  has  ft 
lucky  star ;  and  /  say  that  you  are  a  very  clever  fellow." 

"  I  have  no  more  cleverness  than  the  mushroom  yonder  cm 
the  cherry-tree,"  said  Kobe,  with  feigned  modesty. 

All  looked  surprised  at  a  great  fungus  which  grew  between 
the  largest  branches  of  a  cherry-tree,  and  then  as  quickly 
turned  to  Kobe  to  receive  as  usual  some  waggish  interpreta- 
tion. 

"  0  ho ! "  cried  the  dairymaid,  "  no  more  cleverness  than 
the  mushroom  yonder!  Then  you  must  be  a  fearful  block- 
head." 

"  It  does  not  follow,  Mieken.  What  says  the  proverb  ? — 
*  Work  is  for  blockheads.'     I  don't  work,  do  I  ?" 

"But  what  has  the  mushroom  to  do  with  that?" 

"  Why,  you  see  it  is  a  riddle :  the  fine  large  cherry-tree  if 
our  landlord." 

"  0  you  fawning  fellow  1"  cried  the  dairymaid. 

"  And  I,"  continued  Kob^,  "  am  the  poor,  humble  mush 
room." 

"  Hypocrite  I"  muttered  the  irritated  day-worker. 

"  If  you  could  but  guess  it,  you  would  then  know  what 
little  dogs  must  do  if  they  would  eat  with  big  ones  out  of  the 
same  dish  without  being  bitten." 

It  was  Kobe's  intention  to  puzzle  them  still  longer  with  his 
double  meanings;  Init  he  heard  the  landlord's  voice  in  the 
house,  and  said  to  the  workers,  at  the  same  time  resuming 
hiipipe — 


ill  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

**Let  the  men  go  on  with  their  threshing,  good  peopla. 
Our  good  kind  landlord  comes  to  see  how  the  work  goes  on. 

"  We  shall  get  our  breakfast  now,  and  no  small  uproar  will 
there  be,"  cried  the  dairymaid,  running  to  the  trough  to  re- 
commence her  work. 

"  If  he  snaps  at  me  again,  and  insults  me  bj  calling  m& 
Lazy-bones  and  Looby,  I'll  bring  the  flail  down  on  his  pate," 
said  one  of  the  day- workers  angrily. 

"  When  the  mug  fights  with  the  stone,  the  first  knock  snapi 
the  mug  in  two,"  said  Kobe  jestingly. 

"What  matters  it  to  me?"  remarked  a  second  workman. 
"  I  laugh  at  his  scolding,  and  let  him  rage  on  in  peace." 

"  That  is  the  best  way,"  interrupted  Kobe ;  "just  keep 
your  ears  wide  open,  and  it  will  go  in  at  one  and  come  out 
at  the  other.  Our  host  must  have  something  for  his  money ; 
give  him  what  he  has  a  right  to,  and  do  what  he  tells  you." 

"  Do  what  he  tells  us  !     And  what  if  one  can't  do  it  ?" 

"  Then  still  give  him  what  he  has  a  right  to,  and  don't  do 
it ;  or,  what  is  better,  say  nothing,  but  hold  your  tongue,  just 
as  if  you  heard  nothing  of  all  his  blowing  and  blustering ; — 
think  that  silence  Is  the  best  policy." 

"  Men  are  men  /  laugh  at  his  brutal  way  of  treating  me ! 
Just  lot  him  begin,  and  I  will  show  my  teeth  for  once.  He 
has  no  right  to  treat  me  like  a  beast,  though  I  be  only  a  day- 
labourer." 

"  It  is  quite  true  what  you  say,  and  yet  you  do  not  quit© 
hit  the  nail  on  the  head,"  remarked  Kobe.  "Every  one 
must  know  his  place  in  the  world.  What  says  the  proverb? 
— *  If  an  anvil,  bear  like  an  anvil ;  if  a  hammer,  strike  like  a 
hammer.'  Besides,  a  little  word,  though  good  in  itself^  often 
brings  trouble ;  and  if  you  wish  the  thing  put  in  a  stronger 
light,  consider  that  you  can't  catch  flies  with  vinegar,  or  haref 
with  drams." 


MINE  HOST  OANSENDONCK.  lit 

*KoMI  Kob^l"  called  a  Toioe  fix)m  witliin,  with  manifest 
Impatience. 

"Only  see  what  a  hypocritical  face  he  is  putting  on  nowl** 
laid  another  thresher  jestingly. 

"  That  is  precisely  the  art  which  yon  will  not  learn,"  re- 
plied Kob^ ;  and  immediately  turning  towards  the  house,  ho 
ahouted  out  in  a  humble  tone — 

"I  am  coming  I  I  am  coming,  my  dear  host.  Don't  be 
angry,  I  come  on  wings.     Here  I  am  already  I " 

"  He  earns  his  bread  by  acting  the  lap-dog  1 "  muttered  the 
angry  day-labourer  contemptuously.  "  I  would  rather  thresh 
all  my  life.     He  is  one  of  those  washed  in  all  waters." 

"  He  has  served  ten  long  years  to  learn  to  play  the  inno- 
cent in  the  play,  and  get  his  bread  for  nothing.  After  one 
has  become  a  gentleman's  servant,  one's  hands  don't  grow 
hard  with  labour.  But  what  a  clever  riddle  he  gave  us  I  Do 
you  understand  it?" 

"  Oh,  it  is  easy  to  explain,"  replied  the  first ;  "  he  means 
that  he  sits  and  feeds  on  our  landlord's  neck,  as  the  fungui 
does  on  the  cherry-tree.  Come,  come,  let  us  go  on  with  oar 
Ikreihinff." 


114  VALBf  OF  FLBMUH  Xm. 


OHAPTEB  IIL 

'  Graat  ery,  bollittle  wo«L" 

'^  Kow,  then,  Kob^"  said  mine  host  Gansendonck  to  lik 
Berrant,  "  how  do  I  look  with  my  new  cap  ?" 

Eobd  stepped  two  paces  back,  and,  rubbing  his  eyes  like 
iome  one  who  must  prepare  himself  to  wonder  at  something 
incredible,  he  exclaimed — 

'*  0  mine  host  I  tell  me  at  once,  and  truly,  whether  yon 
are  really  yourself.  I  thought  I  saw  the  lord  Baron  standing 
before  me.  But,  heavens  I  how  can  it  be  ?  Hold  your  head 
ap  a  little.  Baas,  Baas,  turn  round ;  walk  forward  a  little, 
Baafl,  that  I  may  make  quite  sure.  Why,  you  see,  you  are 
as  like  the  lord  Baron  as  one  drop  of  water  is  like" — 

"  Eobd  I "  intemipted  Baas,  with  assumed  seriousness, 
''yon  mean  to  flatter  me;  and  I  have  a  particular  aversion 
to  that." 

**  I  know  well  that  you  dislike  it,  sir,"  replied  he. 

"  There  are  few  men  who  have  less  pride  than  I ;  though 
some,  out  of  mere  envy,  say  that  I  am  haughty,  because,  for- 
•ooth,  I  cannot  endure  peasants." 

"  You  are  quite  right.  Baas.  But  I  still  have  some  doubts 
whether  you  are  not  really  the  Baron." 

Peer  Gansendonck's  eyes  beamed  with  pleasure ;  throwing 
Us  head  baek,  and  standing  in  a  proud  attitude,  ha  loohed 


mxnB  HOST  OAMSENDONCK*  116 

witb  a  benignant  smile  at  EobS,  who  contiuned  jo  make  all 
sorts  of  gestures  expressive  of  wonder.  He  had  not,  indeed, 
quite  told  his  master  a  falsehood.  In  outward  appearance— 
not  taking  the  absurdly  stupid  face  into  consideration — Peer 
was  very  like  the  Baron.  And  no  wonder,  as  for  several 
months  he  had  worn  imitations  of  the  Baron's  clothes,  though 
the  fact  generally  escaped  observation,  as  the  latter  lived  on 
his  estate  in  a  free  and  easy  way,  and  generally  wore  a  very 
ordinary  dress. 

Some  weeks  before  this  conversation,  however,  the  Baron 
had  taken  a  fancy — who  does  not  at  times  ?  A  very  beau- 
tiful water-dog  had  died,  and  he  had  got  a  cap  made  of  its 
■kin.  This  fine  cap  took  such  entire  possession  of  poor  Peer's 
mind,  that  he  had  no  rest  till  he  got  a  similar  one  made  in 
the  city ;  and  now,  with  its  thousand  curls,  it  was  adorning 
the  head  of  mine  host  of  the  St.  Sebastian,  who  could  not 
sufficiently  admire  himself  in  the  mirror  since  he  had  heard 
the  flattering  remarks  of  his  servant. 

At  last,  he  prepared  to  go  out,  and  said — 

"  Kob^,  take  a  staff,  and  let  us  walk  through  the  village." 

**  Yes,  Baas,"  replied  the  servant,  following  at  his  master's 
heels  with  an  assumed  aspect  of  grave  humility. 

On  the  broad  path  which  ran  between  the  lines  of  houses, 
they  met  many  villagers  who  gave  a  friendly  hat  to  mine 
host;  but  burst  into  laughter  as  soon  as  he  had  passed. 
Many  of  the  inhabitants  also  came  running  out  of  their  houses, 
curious  to  see  and  wonder  at  Baas's  hairy  cap.  Our  host 
greeted  no  one  at  first,  but  walked  forward  in  a  stately  way, 
with  uplifted  head  and  slow  steps,  keeping  steadily  on  at  a 
uniform  pace,  as  the  Baron  was  accustomed  to  do.  Eobd 
walked  silently  behind  his  master,  with  a  face  of  mock  inno- 
eence,  following  all  his  turnings  and  windings  as  aooaratefy 
•ad  fidthfuUy  as  a  dog. 


116  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LITl. 

Eyeiything  went  well  till  they  reached  the  smithy.  Some 
young  folks  stood  there  talking  together,  and  so  soon  as  they 
observed  Baas  approaching,  they  began  to  laugh  so  loudly 
that  it  resounded  through  the  whole  street.  Sus,  the  smith'i 
son,  who  was  well  known  as  a  jesting  fellow,  walked  up  and 
down  before  the  smithy  with  head  thrown  back  and  measured 
steps,  and  imitated  mine  host  Gansendonck  so  excellently, 
that  he  almost  burst  with  vexation.  As  he  passed,  he  directed 
a  look  of  anger  towards  the  young  smith,  putting  so  severe  an 
expression  into  his  eyes  that  they  almost  cracked  with  the 
effort.  The  smith  replied  with  a  defiant  and  mocking  laugh, 
so  that  mine  host,  boiling  over  with  wrath,  found  his  only 
refuge  in  passing  rapidly  on,  and  then  struck  into  a  by-path  to 
escape  the  general  observation,  muttering  to  himself  as  he  went. 

"Swaggering  Jack  I  Swaggering  Jack  I"  they  shouted 
after  him. 

"Now,  Kobd,  what  do  you  say  to  the  pack  of  boors?" 
he  asked,  when  his  wrath  was  somewhat  allayed.  "  They 
would  dare  to  despise  me  I — ^make  sport  of  me  \ — a  man  like 
me  I" 

"  Ay,  Baas,  flies  bite  a  horse,  and  yet  a  horse  is  a  great 
beast." 

"  But  I  will  know  how  to  get  at  them,  the  clowns  I  Just 
let  them  wait  a  little ;  they  shall  pay  dear  to  me  for  this  I 
Hills  cannot  come  near  each  other,  but  men  can." 

"  True,  Baas ;  forbearance  is  no  acquittance." 

"  I  should  be  a  perfect  fool  if  I  allowed  my  horses  to  be 
shod  by  the  ill-mannered  clowns,  or  let  them  do  my  other 
work." 

"  To  be  sure.  Baas ;  to  be  too  good  is  to  be  half  a  fooL" 

^  And  not  one  of  my  people  shall  ever  again  set  foot  in  hii 
■mithy." 

**No,Baai." 


KnfE  HOST  0AN8END0HCX.  117 

**  Then  wll  the  mocking  fellow  be  sorry  enough,  and  bito 
his  nails  with  vexation." 

"  Without  doubt,  Baas." 

"  It  is  my  belief,  Kobe,  that  that  rascally  smith  is  paid  by 
some  one  to  persecute  and  annoy  me.  The  watchman  thinlai 
that  it  was  he  who  last  May-night  wrote  something  on  my 
iign." 

**  ^The  sign  of  the  Stiver  Ass*  do  you  mean,  Baas?" 

"  It  is  not  necessary  to  repeat  the  cursed  insolence,  iB  it  ?" 

"No,  Baas." 

**  Between  ourselves,  you  must  give  him  a  sound  thrashing 
when  nobody  sees  you,  and  then  give  him  my  compli- 
ments." 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  do  it?" 

"  Give  him  your  compliments  ?  oh,  to  be  sure." 

"  No ;  give  him  a  sound  thraishing,  I  mean." 

"  If  you  would  see  me  come  home  without  either  arms  or 
legs  I  I  am  not  very  strong,  Baas ;  and  the  smith  is  not  a  cat 
to  be  caught  without  gloves." 

**  And  are  you  actually  afraid  of  the  cowardly  braggart?  I 
would  be  ashamed  of  myself." 

"  It  is  not  pleasant  work  fighting  with  one  who  is  weary  of 
his  life.  *  Better  a  timid  Jack  than  a  dead  Jack,'  says  the 
proverb." 

"  Kobe,  Kobe,  I  believe  you  will  never  die  of  courage." 

"  I  hope  not,  sir." 

While  they  talked  in  this  style,  mine  host's  rage  began 
gradually  to  die  away.  With  many  faults,  he  had  still  one 
good  quality — although  he  quickly  flew  into  a  passion,  he  ai 
quickly  forgot  the  injury  he  had  received. 

He  had  now  come  to  a  plantation,  and  passing  behind  it 
through  his  own  fields,  he  found  objects  of  every  kind  on  which 


118  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

to  rent  his  exaggerated  notions  of  the  rights  of  property,  maii 
make  him  scold  and  rail  at  God  and  all  the  world.  Hers 
a  cow  had  strayed  from  the  road  upon  his  land;  there  a 
goat  had  eaten  the  foliage  from  some  of  his  young  trees ;  and 
further  on,  he  believed  that  he  perceived  the  footsteps  of 
hunters,  and  the  tracks  of  their  dogs.  This  last  discovery 
roused  him  to  such  fury,  that  he  stamped  his  feet.  He  had 
erected  high  posts  on  all  parts  of  his  fields,  with  the  inscrip- 
tion— "  Hunting  prohibited ; "  and,  spite  of  that,  some  on» 
had  actually  been  bold  enough  to  intrude,  and  contemptuouslj 
trample  under  foot  his  rights  in  his  own  property.  A  storm 
of  vituperation  burst  from  him,  and,  in  his  rage,  he  struck  a 
beech-stem  with  his  fist. 

Kobe  stood  behind  a  little,  and  thought  of  his  dinner.  He 
knew  that  they  were  to  have  a  hare  that  day,  and  imagining 
to  himself  that  the  cook  might  possibly  spoil  the  sauce,  he 
likewise  stamped  his  feet  in  apparent  sympathy  with  his 
master.  Meanwhile  he  never  gave  any  other  answer  than, 
"  Yes,  Baas,"  and  "  No,  Baas,"  without  paying  any  attention 
to  what  his  master  was  saying. 

All  of  a  sudden.  Peer  Gansendonck  heard  a  voice  shouting, 
in  a  loud  and  mocking  tone, "  Swaggering  Jack  I  Swaggering 
Jack!" 

Foaming  with  rage,  he  looked  round,  but  saw  no  one  ex- 
cept his  servant,  who  was  looking  intently  on  the  ground,  and 
movmg  his  lips  as  if  engaged  in  the  act  of  eating. 

"  What  1  villain,  was  it  you?"  cried  Baas  wrathfuUy. 

"Yes,  it  is  I,"  replied  Kobe;  "but.  Lord  preserve  nsl 
what  has  come  over  you,  Baas?" 

"  I  ask  you  booby,  if  it  was  you  who  spoke  then  ?" 

**  Did  you  not  hear  me.  Baas  ?" 

The  enraged  Gansendonck  tore  the  staff  out  of  his  han^ 
uid  was  about  to  beat  him  with  it ;  but  aa  soon  as  Kobd  pef- 


MINE  HOST  OANSENDONCK.  lit 

oeired  tkat  things  were  taking  a  serious  turn,  he  sprang  baok| 
md,  witk  uplifted  arms,  cried  out — 

"  Alas,  alas  I  now  is  our  good  landlord  quite  out  cf  hig 
senses  I " 

"Swaggering  Jackl  Swaggering  Jack  I"  again  Bcreamed 
■ome  one  from  behind  Peer. 

He  now  for  the  first  time  perceived  that  a  magpie  was 
perched  among  the  branches  of  the  beech,  and  kept  repeating 
the  opprobrious  epithet. 

"  Kobe,  Kobe,"  he  cried,  "  run  and  fetch  my  rifle.  It  ig 
the  smith's  magpie  ;  the  cursed  brute  must  die  I "  But  the 
bird  left  the  tree  and  flew  home. 

Kob^  burst  out  into  such  violent  laughter,  that  he  sank  on 
the  grass,  and  rolled  there  helplessly  for  a  considerable  time. 

"  Stop ! "  screamed  Baas,  "  stop,  or  I  shall  drive  you  from 
my  house.     Stop  laughing,  I  tell  you." 

"I  can't,  sir;  I  can't." 

"  Stand  up." 

"Yes." 

"  I  will  forgive  your  unmannerly  conduct  on  one  conditioii ; 
and  that  is,  that  you  kill  the  smith's  magpie." 

"With  what.  Baas?" 

"  With  poison." 

"  Certainly,  Baas,  if  it  will  eat  it." 

"  If  not,  then  shoot  it  dead." 

"  Very  well." 

"  Come,  let  us  go.  But,  hallo,  what  is  that  I  see  there  in 
my  fir- wood  ?  One  may  as  well  not  be  a  proprietor  at  all,  if 
one  is  to  be  plundered  by  whoever  pleases  in  this  fashion." 

With  these  words,  he  hastened  on,  accompanied  by  hli 
attendant,  railing  stormily  as  he  went. 

He  had  seen  from  a  distance  a  poor  woman  and  two  chil- 
dren busy  breaking  the  withered  brandU^s  of  the  firs,  and  lying 


IK^  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LCTB. 

them  into  large  bundles.  Althongh  an  ancient  cnstom  pe^ 
mitted  the  poor  to  gather  withered  branches  in  the  fir-woods, 
Baas  Gansendonck  would  never  permit  it.  The  dry  wood 
was  as  much  his  possession  as  the  green,  he  said,  and  no  one 
was  to  dare  to  touch  his  property.  Besides,  it  was  only  a 
poor  woman,  and  he  had  therefore  no  resistance  or  insolence 
to  fear.  This  inspired  him  with  courage,  and  gave  him  an 
opportunity  of  wreaking  his  whole  wrath  without  the  dread  of 
retaliation. 

Seizing  the  poor  woman  by  the  shoulder,  he  cried  out — 

"  Shameless  thief,  begone  I  Off  to  the  village  with  me — ^to 
the  police  I     To  the  lock-up,  you  pilferer  I" 

The  trembling  woman  let  fall  the  wood  she  had  collected, 
and  was  so  overpowered  by  the  suddenness  of  the  attack  and 
the  violence  of  Baas's  threats,  that  she  lost  the  power  of 
speech,  and  began  to  weep ;  while  both  the  little  children 
-clung  to  their  mother's  clothes,  and  filled  the  plantation  with 
their  terrified  cries. 

Kobe  shook  his  head  with  vexation ;  the  expression  of 
careless  indifference  had  left  his  face,  and  a  feeling  of  compas- 
sion for  the  poor  woman  had  evidently  taken  possession  of 
him. 

"Here,  you  idle  good-for-nothing  I "  exclaimed  Baas  to 
him ;  "  stretch  out  your  hands  and  take  this  brood  of  thievei 
to  the  police." 

"  Dear  man  I  I  will  never  do  it  again,"  said  the  woman 
imploringly.  "  Think  of  my  poor  children  ;  they  will  die  of 
terror." 

"  Silence,  vagabond  I "  thundered  Baas ;  "  I  will  teach  yon 
to  rob  and  steal." 

Kob^  took  hold  of  the  woman's  arm  with  assumed  anger, 
and  shook  her  with  seeming  violence ;  but  at  the  fame  tinM 
whispered  in  her  ear — 


lOHS  H08T  GANSENDONCK.  Ill 

"  Fall  on  y>ar  knees,  and  say,  *  Gracious  aiJ  " 

The  woman  fell  down  on  her  knees  before  Baas  Ganflen- 
donck,  and,  stretching  out  her  arms,  said — 

"Ah,  gracious  sir  I  gracious  sir  I  pardnn  me,  I  beseech 
you.  0  do  so,  for  the  sake  of  my  poor  little  children,  I  be- 
feech  you  I" 

Some  secret  influence  seemed  now  to  be  at  work  in  mine 
host ;  he  stood  back  a  little  from  the  woman,  and  looked  at  her 
in  a  dreamy  way,  and  with  a  mild,  friendly  expression.  Yet  he 
did  not  bid  her  stand  up.  Some  one  on  her  knees  before  him 
with  uplifted  hands,  and  praying  for  mercy  I  Was  it  possible  ? 
Oh,  it  was  kingly. 

After  he  had  enjoyed  for  a  time  this  intense  pleasure,  he 
raised  the  poor  woman  from  the  ground,  and  wiped  a  tear  of 
emotion  from  his  eyes,  saying  at  the  same  time — 

"  Poor  mother  I  I  have  been  too  hasty.  It  is  all  past  now. 
Take  up  your  bundle  again ;  you  are  a  good  woman.  In 
future,  you  may  break  the  withered  wood  in  all  my  planta- 
tions ;  and  if  a  little  bit  of  green  should  now  and  then  find  its 
way  into  your  bundle,  I  shall  say  nothing.  Compose  your- 
self ;  I  grant  you  my  full  pardon  and  favour." 

With  great  surprise,  the  woman  gazed  alternately  at  these 
two  peculiar  men  who  stood  before  her ;  Baas  with  his  patro- 
nizing countenance,  and  the  servant,  who  was  making  violent 
efforts  to  keep  himself  from  laughing. 

"  Yes,  good  mother,"  repeated  Baas,  "  permission  is  granted 
you  to  gather  wood  in  all  my  plantations."  As  he  said  this, 
he  moved  his  hand  round  in  a  circle,  as  if  the  whole  parish 
belonged  to  him. 

The  poor  woman  moved  back  a  few  paces  to  pick  up  her 
bundle,  and  sighed,  as  she  said  with  gratitude — 

"  God  bless  you  for  your  kindness,  my  lord  Baron  I" 

Mine  host  Gansendonck  felt  a  thrill  of  delight  ran  thioui^ 


119  TALB0  OF  FLEMI8H  ZJFE* 

liifl  frame,  and  his  countenance  lighted  up  as  if  iiradiotod  bj 
the  sun  of  happiness. 

"Woman,  woman  1"  he  cried,  "come  hither.  What  ii 
that  you  said  ?     I  did  not  understand  you." 

"I  said  that  I  thanked  you  a  thousand  times,  my  lord 
Baron." 

Baas  Gansendonck  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and,  draw- 
ing out  a  silver  coin,  handed  it  to  the  woman,  saying,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes — 

"  There,  good  mother ;  make  a  happy  day  of  it ;  and  in 
winter,  come  every  Saturday  to  the  St.  Sebastian,  and  you 
will  get  wood  and  bread  in  abundance.  Now  you  may  go 
home." 

With  these  words,  he  left  the  woman  and  the  plantation. 
He  wept,  and  the  tears  rolled  over  his  cheeks.  Kob^,  who 
perceived  it,  also  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  sleeve  of  his  jerkin. 

"  It  ifl  a  singular  thing,"  at  last  sighed  Baas,  "  that  I  can 
fee  no  one  in  suffering  but  it  goes  to  my  heart  at  once." 

"  It  is  the  same  with  me.  Baas." 

"  Did  you  hear  it,  Kobe  ?  The  good  woman  took  me  &r 
the  Baron." 

"  With  good  reason,  Baas." 

"  Be  silent  for  a  little,  good  Kob^ ;  and  let  ns  go  slowly 


"  Certainly,  Baas." 

With  the  greatest  submission,  Kob^  followed  in  his  master's 
fix)tsteps,  and  both  went  dreamily  on.  Mine  host  thought  of 
the  beautiful  names  by  which  the  woman  had  addressed  him 
•—Kobe,  of  hare  and  wine-sauce. 

Three  hunters  meanwhile  had  come  out  of  an  oak-wood, 
and  stood  at  a  little  distance  laughing  and  joking  at  mine 
host  and  his  attendant.  They  were  three  young  gentlemen, 
drened  in  elegant  hunting  suits,  and  with  rifles  in  their  handir 


MINE  HOST  OANSENDONCKo  ISt 

One  of  tbem  seemed  to  know  the  host  of  the  St.  SebMtUii 
well ;  for  he  was  relating  to  his  companions  by  what  a  sin- 
gnlar  demon  of  pride  the  man  was  possessed,  and  spoke  at  tht 
game  time  in  warm  language  of  his  daughter  Lisa 

"  Come,  come,"  he  cried  at  last,  "  we  are  fatigued  with  oar 
sport ;  let  us  have  some  amusement.  Follow  me ;  we  shall 
go  to  the  St.  Sebastian  and  empty  a  bottle.  But  remember 
to  address  him  with  great  respect,  and  compliment  him 
largely — ^the  more  absurdly  the  better." 

After  saying  this,  he  and  his  companions  leapt  the  dry 
ditch  before  them,  and  he  hastened  to  Baas  a  little  in  ad- 
vance, bowing  low  as  he  approached,  and  greeting  him  in  the 
most  courtly  style.  Peer  Gansendonck  took  his  fur-cap  in 
both  hands  and  made  great  eiBforts  to  imitate  the  actions  of 
the  young  gentleman.  The  two  other  hunters  took  no  part 
in  these  compliments,  but,  sheltering  themselves  behind  the 
attendant,  made  violent  efforts  to  restrain  their  laughter. 

"  Now,  Herr  Adolph,  my  friend,"  said  mine  host,  "  how 
goes  it  with  your  papa  ?  Still  stout  and  thriving,  I  hope.  He 
never  pays  us  a  visit,  now  that  he  lives  in  the  city.  But, 
*  Out  of  sight,  out  of  mind,'  says  the  proverb." 

Adolph  took  one  of  his  laughing  friends  by  the  hand,  and 
drew  him  forcibly  towards  Baas. 

"  Herr  von  Gansendonck,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  I  have  the 
honour  to  present  to  you  the  young  Herr  Baron  Victor  of 
Bruinkasteel ;  but  you  must  excuse  his  malady,  it  is  a  nervoui 
affection — the  remains  of  an  attack  of  convulsions;  he  can 
see  no  stranger  without  bursting  into  laughter." 

Victor  could  restrain  himself  no  longer ;  he  threw  back  hii 
bead,  stamped  his  feet,  and  laughed  till  he  was  black  and  blue, 

"  You  are  spoiling  the  sport,"  whispered  Adolph  to  him , 
**  stop,  otherwise  he  will  perceive  it." 

^  Ai  yon  please,  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel,"  said  mino  hofk 


iS4  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LITB. 

^ '  Better  be  blithe  with  little  than  sad  with  nothing,'  as  the/ 
■ay." 

Taking  his  friend  a  second  time  by  the  hand,  Adolph  repeated 
the  presentation. 

"  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  has  the  honour  not  to  know  me," 
said  mine  host  with  a  bow. 

"  Indeed,"  replied  Victor,  "  I  have  the  hononr  not  to  be 
known  to  yon." 

'*  The  honour  is  not  great,  gracious  sir,"  said  Baas,  agaia 
bowing.  "  The  Herr  means,  I  suppose,  to  spend  the  hunting 
season  at  our  friend  Adolph's  little  country-seat?" 

"  Yes,  at  your  service,  Herr  von  Gansendonck." 

"  His  father  has  bought  the  hunting-box  from  us,"  said 
Adolph.  "  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  will  be  your  neighbour 
every  winter  after  this,  and  will  probably  be  a  frequent  visitor 
at  your  house,  Herr  von  Gansendonck." 

"  But  Adolph,  my  friend,  why  does  the  other  gentleman 
Stand  behind  Kobe,  there  ?     Is  he  afraid  of  me  ?" 

"  He  is  very  shy,  Herr  von  Gansendonck.  What  can  one 
make  of  it  ?  It  is  the  unspotted  innocence  of  youth.  But, 
Herr  von  Gansendonck,  you  possess  a  fine  shooting-ground ; 
yon  too  are  a  huntsman,  I  perceive." 

^  I  am  a  great  amateur,  am  I  not,  Kob^  ?" 

**  Ay,  Baas,  of  hares ;  and  I  too ;-— only  they  must  not  be 
overdone,"  he  added  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  What  did  you  mutter  there  ?"  cried  mine  host  with  anger, 
to  show  the  gentlemen  that  he  governed  his  household  as  a 
great  man  ought.  "  What  did  you  mutter  there,  you  shame- 
less clown  ?" 

**  I  ask  if  you  do  not  think  it  is  time  to  go  home,  Baas ;  and 
I  was  just  saying  so  to  myself:  fishing  and  huntlDg  makt 
hungry  stomachi." 


imrE  HOST  OAMSENDOMCK.  195 

"  When  a  sucking  pig  dreams,  it  dreams  of  husks.  It  ii 
your  part  to  be  silent ;  be  so  good  as  to  remember  thaV* 

"  Very  well,  Baas ;  to  think  and  say  nothing,  does  harm  to 
nobody." 

"  Not  a  word  more,  I  command  you." 

"No,  Baas." 

"  Will  the  gentlemen  do  me  the  honour  to  drink  an  early 
glass  of  wine  in  my  house  ?"  asked  Peer  Gansendonck,  again 
addressing  the  strangers. 

"  It  was  our  iutention,  sir,  to  visit  you  for  that  purpose." 

**  Indeed  I  come  along  then  ;  you  shall  have  wine  worth 
speaking  of.  Is  it  not  so,  Kobe  ?  You  tasted  it  once  in  your 
life.  If  you  do  not  lick  your  lips  after  it,  gentlemen,  then 
call  me  peasant.'* 

"  That  is  quite  true.  Baas,"  replied  the  servant. 

Mine  host  now  strode  majestically  on,  talking  in  a  friendly 
way  with  Adolph,  whose  two  companions  hung  back  a  little 
to  give  free  scope  to  their  fun.  Kobe  looked  at  everything 
with  a  singular  and  undefinable  expression,  and  would  hav« 
laughed  too,  had  his  head  not  been  so  full  of  the  spiced  hare 
that  he  almost  took  a  spasm  in  his  stomach  with  thinking 
of  it 

GDow  J  the  company  moved  towardi  the  St.  SebMrtiaiL 


IM  VALBI  or  FLEMIMH 


OHAPTEB   IV. 

*  Bring  not  tbe  wolf  into  th« 


It  was  a  glorious  morning.  The  sun  shone  in  the  easton 
orizon,  glowing  like  burning  gold,  and  shooting  dense  massei 
of  dazzling  radiance  through  sky  and  air.  Its  sparkling 
beams  penetrated  half-playfully  the  window  of  the  St.  Sebas- 
tian, and  fell  with  a  roseate  light  on  a  young  girl's  brow. 

Lisa  Gansendonck  sat  at  a  table  by  the  window.  She  wag 
dreaming ;  for  her  long  dark  eyelashes  hung  over  her  eyes, 
and  a  gentle  smile  played  round  her  mouth,  while  now  and 
then  a  slight  blush  on  her  pale  cheek  betokened  some  secret 
emotion  of  the  heart.  Suddenly  she  raised  her  head ;  her 
eyes  sparkled,  and  she  smiled  as  if  some  pleasing  idea  had 
struck  her. 

She  took  up  a  French  paper  from  Antwerp,  which  lay  open 
jefare  her,  and  after  reading  a  few  lines,  laid  it  down  again, 
nd  relapsea  mto  her  former  reverie. 

How  charming  she  looked  as  she  sat  there,  like  a  lovely 
dream,  surrounded  by  the  deepest  silence  and  with  the  warmest 
ray  of  the  morning  sun  upon  her  I — pale  and  tender,  young 
and  lovely,  like  a  white  rose  half-blown. 

Sounds  tender  and  tremulous,  like  the  dying  breath  of 
a  distant  harp,  escaped  her  lips,  as  with  a  sigh  she  mur- 
mured— 

^  Oh  how  happy  one  must  be  in  the  citj  I    Snoh  a  ball  I 


mNB  HOST  OANSENDOHCi:.  1S7 

AH  the  rich  dresses,,  diamonds,  flowers  in  the  hair,  and  olothei 
■0  costly  that  one  might  bny  half  a  village  with  them ;  every- 
thing dazzling  with  gold  and  light  I  and  then  the  fine  man- 
ners I  and  the  beantiful  conversation  I  Oh,  if  I  conid  but  see 
it  once,  were  it  only  through  a  window  I " 

After  she  had  dwelt  long  upon  this  subject  in  her  thoughts, 
the  charming  idea  of  a  city  ball  seemed  to  leave  her  at  last ; 
and  standing  up,  she  approached  a  mirror,  where  she  looked 
at  herself  attentively,  arranging  a  fold  in  her  dress  here  and 
there,  or  smoothing  down  her  beautiful  black  hair  till  it  shona 
with  more  dazzling  brilliancy  than  ever.  Her  dress  was  very 
simple,  and  one  would  have  found  nothing  to  blame  in  her 
ornaments  had  not  the  smell  of  the  byre,  the  smoked  walls  of 
the  inn,  and  the  tin  cans  on  the  shelf,  proclaimed  from  every 
side  that  young  Lisa  was  not  in  her  place. 

Her  black  silk  gown  was  plain,  and  had  only  a  single 
flounce  ;  her  neckerchief  was  of  a  rose-colour,  and  both  suited 
her  pale  face  beautifally.  Her  head  was  uncovered,  and  her 
hair  lay  simply  down  in  front,  and  was  tied  up  behind  like  a 
little  coronet. 

After  she  had  spent  some  time  at  the  mirror,  she  returned 
to  the  table,  and  sitting  down,  began  half-idly  to  embroider 
a  lace  collar,  while  her  wandering  looks  betokened  that  her 
thoughts  were  busy  with  something  far  removed  from  her 
work.  Immediately  after,  she  said  in  an  almost  inaudible 
tone — 

"  The  hunting  season  has  begun  ;  the  gentlemen  will  leave 
the  city  again.  Father  says  I  must  be  friendly  to  them.  He 
will  take  me  to  town  to  purchase  a  silk  hat  for  me.  I  am 
not  to  sit  with  downcast  eyes.  I  am  to  laugh  and  look  the 
the  gentlemen  in  the  face  when  they  speak  to  me.  What 
does  father  mean  by  it  ?  I  don't  know  what  good  purpoee  it 
ooold  serve,  he  says  to but  then  Charles  ?    It  seems  to 


Its  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LZFl. 

bo  disagreeable  to  bim  when  I  change  mj  dress  frequently, 
aud  it  annoys  bim  when  strangers  talk  too  mnch  with  me. 
Vrbat  am  I  to  do  ?  Father  will  have  it  so ;  and  I  cannot  be 
unkind  to  the  people  who  come  about.  Y*»t  I  will  not  rex 
Charles  either." 

Just  at  this  moment,  her  father's  voice  was  heard  at  the 
door ;  looking  through  the  window,  she  saw  him  bowing  and 
showing  great  politeness  to  three  young  gentlemen  in  hunting 
clothes.  A  deep  blush  overspread  her  brow.  Was  pleasure  or 
perplexity  the  cause  of  it  ?  She  once  more  smoothed  down 
her  hair,  and  remained  sitting  as  if  she  had  heard  nothing. 

Mine  host  entered  with  his  company,  and  in  a  fond  and 
complacent  tone,  said — 

"  See,  gentlemen,  here  is  my  daughter !  What  say  you  to 
such  a  pretty  flower  as  that  ?  She  is  well  educated,  and  knows 
French,  gentlemen ;  between  my  Lisa  and  a  peasant  girl, 
there  is  as  great  a  difference  as  between  a  cow  and  a  whed- 
barrow." 

Kobe  burst  into  a  loud  laugh, 

"You  scoundrel  I"  cried  mine  host  in  a  fury;  "what  aw 
you  laughing  at  ?     Get  along  with  you,  you  villain  I " 

"Very  well.  Baas  I" 

Kobe  sat  down  at  the  hearth  comer,  and  with  intense  plea- 
sure inhaled  the  smell  of  the  hare,  whose  rich  steamy  odou? 
found  its  way  into  the  room  from  a  back  kitchen.  Mean- 
while he  gazed  into  the  fire,  and  seemed  or  feigned  to  become 
quite  unconscious  of  everything  that  was  going  on  around 
him. 

While  Lisa  was  engaged  in  exchanging  some  French  po- 
litenesses with  the  gentlemen,  mine  host  Gansendonck  had 
betaken  himself  to  the  cellar,  and  returned  with  a  bottle  and 
glasses,  which  he  placed  on  the  table  before  his  daughter. 

"Seat  yourselves,  se^at  yourselves,  gentlemen,"  he  iaid| 


MIHE  HOST  GANSENDONCX.  139 

**  we  will  drink  Lisa's  health.  She  shall  pledge  you.  Ah  I 
yon  are  speaking  French  with  her,  are  yon  ?  Singular  fact, 
that  I  always  hear  French  spoken  with  so  much  pleasure  ;  I 
could  listen  to  it  the  whole  day  long ;  it  always  sounds  to  me 
as  if  some  one  were  singing  a  song." 

He  took  Victor  by  the  arm,  and  forced  him  down  besidr 
Lisa. 

"  Not  so  much  ceremony,  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel,"  he  cried ; 
"  pray  act  as  if  you  were  in  your  own  house." 

Lisa's  beautiful,  gentle  face  had  at  the  first  glance  inspired 
two  of  the  young  hunters  with  a  kind  of  respect ;  they  sat  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  and  looked  in  silence  at  the 
simple  girl,  who  evidently  exerted  herself  to  be  as  agreeable 
as  possible,  while  her  bashfulness  and  timidity  made  her  brow 
glow  as  if  with  fire.  Victor  von  Bruinkasteel,  however,  was 
far  from  being  so  respectful  or  reserved.  He  began  boldly  to 
flatter  the  young  maiden,  praising  her  beauty,  her  embroidery, 
and  her  French ;  but  was  at  the  same  time  so  skilful  in  dis- 
posing his  words,  and  mingling  his  flatteries  with  the  rest  of 
his  conversation,  that  all  appearance  of  anything  forced  or  un- 
becoming was  taken  awav ;  and  Lisa  dreamily  listened  to  his 
talk  as  if  it  were  a  sweetly-sounding  song. 

Mine  host,  whose  hopes  rose  higher  with  every  word,  and 
who  cherished  a  predilection  for  Herr  Victor,  nibbed  his  hands 
with  pleasure,  while  he  said  to  himself : — 

"  No  one  knows  how  a  penny-piece  can  roll,  and  everything 
if  possible,  except  falling  upwards.  It  would  make  a  beauti- 
ful pair,  it  would. — Now,  then,  gentlemen  1  drink  another 
glass.  Your  health,  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  I  Go  on  speak- 
ing French  ;  you  do  not  need  to  trouble  yourself  about  me ; 
I  see  in  your  eyes  what  you  would  say." 

The  young  hunters  seemed  to  enjoy  themselves  amazingly. 
Liea's  French,  to  be  sore,  was  not  the  beet  |  but  in  bar  mtnaik 


130  TALEB  OF  FLEMI8H  ZJFB. 

everything  gounded  so  charming  and  beautiful.  The  perpetual 
blush  upon  her  cheeks  had  something  in  it  so  graceftd  and 
attractive ;  and  there  was  something  so  fresh  and  loveabl© 
about  her  whole  nature,  that  the  very  tones  of  her  voice 
alone  roused  a  sweet  feeling  in  the  heart, 

Victor,  an  experienced  gallant,  had  soon  discovered  the 
weak  side  of  Lisa's  virgin  soul.  He  spoke  to  her  of  the  newest 
fashions,  of  beautiful  dress,  of  city  life ;  described  festivals 
and  balls  in  glowing  colours ;  and  knew  so  well  how  to  engage 
her  attention,  that  the  poor  girl  became  almost  unconscious 
of  everything  around  her.  Gradually  he  grew  so  bold  as  to 
•eize  Lisa's  hand,  while  speaking,  in  a  seemingly  casual  way. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  the  poor  girl  seemed  to  awake  out 
of  her  dream.  Trembling  she  withdrew  her  hand,  pushed 
back  her  chair,  and  looked  at  her  father  with  an  anxious  and 
inquiring  expression.  He,  however,  delighted  above  measure, 
looked  at  her  reproachfully,  and  nodded  to  her  to  keep  her 
seat.  Lisa's  modest  withdrawal  of  her  hand  took  Victor  by 
surprise,  and  he  turned  aside  his  face  to  conceal  his  confusion* 
He  now  perceived  that  the  servant,  who  had  sat  down  by  the 
comer  of  the  hearth,  was  on  his  feet,  and  had  his  eyes  fixed 
on  him  with  a  threatening  expression,  mingled  at  the  same 
time  with  a  bitter  and  sarcastic  smile. 

Turning  to  mine  host,  he  said  with  some  annoyance— 
"  What  has  that  looby  to  say  here,  that  he  stares  and  laughi 
at  me  so  impudently  ?" 

"  He  anything  to  gay ! "  screamed  Baas,  **  you  shall  soon 
see  that." 

"Kob^l" 

"  What  do  you  want,  Baas  ?" 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  looked  at  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel 
in  a  disagreeable  way  ?  Did  you  dare  to  laugh  at  him,  joa 
earthworm?" 


lOHB  HOST  GAN8END0NCK.  181 

**  I  langhed  as  a  dog  does  who  Las  eaten  mustard.  I  haw 
burnt  my  hand,  Baas." 

"  Foh  I  you  are  too  awkward  to  dance  before  the  deTil. 

Qet  out  of  the  house  at  once." 

"  Very  well,  Baas." 

Kobe  then  left  the  room  with  glow  steps,  taking  off  his  cap 
awkwardly  and  sheepishly  as  he  went,  as  if  he  had  been  in- 
capable of  observing  anything. 

Soon  after,  Victor's  impudence  was  forgotten  the  yocng 
gentlemen  talked  French  with  Lisa  agreeably,  while  mine 
host  encouraged  them  to  visit  his  daughter  often,  by  telling 
them  that  a  bottle  of  the  best  wine  was  always  at  their  service. 
Victor's  French  talk,  frivolous  though  it  was,  seemed  to  please 
Lisa,  and  she  quietly  made  the  observation  to  herself,  that 
such  fine  discourse  was  a  thousand  times  more  delightful  than 
the  ordinary  every-day  conversation  of  the  peasants. 

At  this  point,  a  young  man  opened  the  back-door,  and  en- 
tered the  room,  accompanied  by  Kobe. 

"  A  glass  of  beer,  Kobe,  and  draw  one  for  yourself  at  the 
same  time,"  he  said  with  a  manly  voice. 

He  was  a  vigorous  youth,  and  wore  a  smock-frock  of  fine 
blue  linen,  a  silken  neckerchief,  and  a  cap  of  otter's  skin. 
His  fine  and  well-formed  face  was  deeply  sun-burnt;  his 
broad  hands  bore  the  marks  of  daily  toil,  while  his  large  bine 
eyes,  full  of  fire  and  life,  gave  the  impression  of  one  whose 
mind  and  heart  were  as  richly  endowed  as  his  body. 

At  his  entrance,  Lisa  stood  up  and  smiled  to  him  such  a 
kind  and  friendly  welcome,  that  two  of  the  hunters  looked  at 
him  with  surprise ;  the  third,  Adolph,  knew  him  of  old. 
Mine  host  muttered  some  grumbling  words,  and  put  on  a  sour 
expression  as  if  Charles  the  brewer's  presence  was  particularly 
disagreeable  to  him  at  the  present  time ;  he  even  stamped 
hii  foot  irritably,  and  made  no  effort  to  conceal  his  vexation. 


139  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE.' 

The  young  man  affected  not  to  observe  anything  nnnsiial, 
but  kept  bis  eyes  fixed  on  Lisa's,  as  if  be  would  ask  ber  some- 
thing ;  she  smiled  to  him  still  more  kindly  and  openly  than 
before  ;  and  now,  for  the  first  time  since  the  strangers  had  en- 
tered, her  face  assumed  an  expression  of  freedom  and  satisfac- 
tion. 

"Fatberl"  said  Lisa. 

"  That  boor's  word  again  I "  cried  Baas. 

"  Papa,"  resumed  Lisa,  correcting  herself,  "  Papa,  is  Charlef 
not  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  with  us?" 

"  He  may  get  a  wine-glass  out  of  the  cupboard  himself" 
was  the  rude  reply. 

**  Thank  you,  mine  host  Gansendonck,"  said  Charles  with 
a  bitter  smile.     "  I  do  not  like  wine  in  the  morning." 

"  No,  I  daresay  not ;  drink  your  beloved  beer  1  That  is 
the  way  to  get  thick  brains,"  said  Baas  jestingly,  and  smiling 
complacently  like  one  who  thought  he  had  said  a  good  thing. 

Charles  was  accustomed  to  Gansendonck's  coarse  way  of 
talking,  and  so  thought  no  more  of  it  now  than  on  any  other 
occasion.  He  was  about  to  sit  down  by  the  fire  opposite 
Kobe,  but  Lisa  called  out — "  Charles,  here  is  a  chair  1  come 
and  sit  beside  me,  and  chat  a  little  with  us  I " 

Peer  Gansendonck  looked  at  his  daughter  with  an  irritated 
countenance,  and  bit  his  lips  with  impatience.  This  did  not 
prevent  Charles  accepting  Lisa's  friendly  invitation,  however, 
although  he  perceived  very  clearly  the  insulting  and  con- 
temptuous conduct  of  her  father. 

"  You  will  have  capital  sport  this  year,  gentlemen,"  he 
said  in  the  Flemish  tongue,  sitting  down  beside  Adolph; 
"  there  is  abundance  of  hares  and  partridges." 

"  So  I  believe,"  replied  Adolph,  "  but  we  have  not  suc- 
ceeded in  shooting  anything  this  morning ;  the  dogs  hay*  iM 
nose  to-day." 


UHE  HOST  GAKSENDONOK.  IBS 

**  I  tKonglit  io,"  said  mine  tost,  in  a  mocking  tone,  "  I 
thonght  he  would  put  a  clog  on  the  wheels  with  his  eyep- 
lasting  Flemish  I  Now,  you  will  hear  of  nothing  hnt  dogs, 
cows,  horses,  and  potatoes.  Just  let  him  talk  away,  Herr 
▼on  Bruinkasteel,  and  do  you  go  on  speaking  French  with 
our  Lisa.  I  have  such  pleasure  in  hearing  it — I  cannot  tell 
you  how  much  pleasure." 

Charles  smiled  and  turned  his  eyes  towards  Victor  with  a 
free  and  manly  look.  The  latter  seemed  all  at  once  deprived 
of  his  light  smooth  talk,  and  showed  evident  signs  of  disincli- 
nation to  continue  his  flattering  conversation  with  Lisa  in  the 
presence  of  Charles.  An  interval  of  painful  silence  followed. 
With  a  kind  of  despair,  mine  host  saw  that  Herr  von  Bruin- 
kasteel felt  annoyed.  He  cast  a  reproachful  look  at  Charles 
and  said — 

"  Herr  Victor,  do  not  mind  him  ;  it  is  only  our  hrewer,  and 
an  acquaintance  of  our  family ;  hut  he  has  nothing  to  say 
here,  though  he  fancies  he  has  drawn  Number  One.  Go  on, 
Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  I  I  should  like  my  daughter  to  be  on 
good  terms  with  you,  and  smile  and  enjoy  herself,  if  yon  will 
have  the  goodness  to  speak  with  her.  If  the  brewer  means 
to  make  wry  faces  at  it,  he  may  go  out  and  do  it  on  the 
street." 

Encouraged  by  these  words,  and  perhaps  with  the  intention 
of  annoying  the  young  brewer,  Victor  turned  to  Lisa,  and, 
while  talking,  looked  at  her  with  that  tender  glance  which 
some  men  allow  themselves  in  fashionable  society,  when  they 
have  not  the  highest  opinion  of  a  lady's  honour.  Charles  grew 
pale,  trembled,  and  ground  his  teeth  violently ;  and  though 
he  immediately  restrained  this  expression  of  sorrow  and  anger, 
it  did  not  escape  notice.  Victor  was  alarmed  when  he  saw 
it.  He  was  not  afraid,  but  notwithstanding  it  made  so  deep 
an  impression  on  his  mind,  that  pleasantly  and  merriment 


184  TALCS  OF  FLEMISH  UFB. 

lost  all  their  Best.  Mine  host,  on  the  contrary,  was  mor» 
fdrions  than  ever,  and  stamped  his  feet,  at  the  same  time 
mattering  to  himself.  Lisa,  again,  who  thought  that  it  was 
her  father's  harsh  words  only,  which  had  pained  the  yonng 
man,  looked  to  the  ground,  and  was  on  the  point  of  bursting 
into  tears.  Charles  sat  calmly  on  his  chair,  somewhat  pale 
and  trembling,  it  is  true,  but  in  outward  appearance  suffi- 
ciently composed. 

Suddenly  Victor  rose,  and,  taking  his  rifle,  said  to  his  com- 
panions— 

"  Come,  let  us  continue  our  sport. — Miss  Lisa,  I  hope,  will 
pardon  me  if  I  have  unwittingly  said  anything  which  was  dis- 
agreeable to  her." 

"What  I  what  I"  cried  her  father;  "everything  which 
you  have  said  has  been  beautiful,  and  could  not  have  been 
better  ;  and  I  hope,  sir,  that  she  has  not  seen  and  heard  yon 
for  the  last  time." 

"  Miss  Lisa  perhaps  thinks  otherwise  ;  though  my  intention 
has  been  to  show  her  all  respect  and  kindness." 

When  he  saw  that  his  daughter  made  no  reply,  mine  ho«t 
continued  with  some  irritation — 

"  How  now,  what  does  this  stupid  boor's-play  mean  ?  Lisa, 
why  do  you  sit  there  like  a  *  Kate  touch  mo  not  ?*  Answer  the 
gentleman,  and  quickly  too ! " 

Lisa  rose,  and  said  in  Flemish,  and  in  a  cold  but  polite 
tone — 

"  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel,  you  will  not  take  it  ill  if  I  have 
been  a  little  absent.  Your  conversation  has  been  very  agree- 
able to  me,  and  if  you  should  again  do  us  the  honour  to  visit 
our  house,  you  shall  always  be  welcome." 

"That's  right  I  that's  right  I"  cried  Baas,  striking  his 
hands  together.  "  Ah  I  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel,  she  is  a  jewel 
oC  a  girL    You  do  not  know  her  yet ;  she  can  nng  like  a 


MINE  HOST  OANSENDOMCK.  186 

ughtingale.  Will  you  not  take  your  seat  again?  I  ghaQ 
fetch  another  bottle." 

"No;  we  must  away;  the  day  is  passing.  We  thank 
yon  for  your  kind  reception." 

"  I  shall  go  a  bit  of  the  way  with  you,  if  the  gentlemen 
have  no  objection,"  said  Baas.  "  I  have  a  little  plantation 
off  the  highway  which  I  wish  to  look  at.  *  The  master's  eye 
makes  the  horse  fat/  says  the  proverb." 

The  young  gentlemen  all  declared  that  Herr  von  Gansen- 
donck's  society  would  give  them  the  greatest  pleasure.  They 
then  left  the  house  together,  talking  in  the  politest  way  im- 
aginable, with  Kobe  at  their  heels. 

So  soon  as  the  young  people  found  themselves  alone,  Lisa 
Baid  in  a  kindly  way — "  Charles,  you  must  not  vex  yourself 
on  account  of  the  coarse  way  my  father  talks  ;  you  know  he 
does  not  mean  anything  by  it." 

The  young  man  shook  his  head,  and  replied— 

"  It  is  not  that,  Lisa,  which  pains  me." 

"What,  then?"  asked  the  maiden  with  surprise. 

"  I  feel  it  difficult  to  explain  to  you  what  I  mean,  Lisa. 
Your  pure  unspotted  soul  would  not  understand  it.  It  ii 
better  to  say  nothing  about  it." 

"  No,  Charles  ;  you  must  let  me  know  what  you  mean." 

"  Well  then,  the  truth  is,  I  do  not  like  to  see  young  gal- 
lants come  out  of  the  city  to  make  a  display  of  their  flat  un- 
meaning compliments  and  phrases  before  you.  Somethmg 
improper  may  easily  arise  from  all  this;  and  in  any  case, 
their  fine  French  manners  and  tender  glances  of  the  eye  show 
that  they  do  not  approach  you  with  that  respect  which  is  due 
to  a  lady." 

Impatience,  and  perhaps  a  slight  irritation,  were  depicted 
on  the  young  girl's  face. 

"  Ton  are  wrong,  Charley"  she  said ;  "  the  gec^tlemen  Va,r9 


186  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

said  nothing  improper  to  me.  On  the  contrary,  when  I  listes 
to  their  conversation,  I  learn  how  one  must  talk  and  act,  if 
one  would  not  pass  for  a  mere  peasant  girl." 

At  this,  Charles  hung  his  head  in  silence,  and  sighed  an- 
xiously— "  Yes,  I  know  it,"  continued  Lisa  ;  "  you  hate  city 
men  and  city  manners ;  but  whatever  you  may  think  about 
these  things,  it  is  not  my  part  surely  to  act  unkindly  towards 
the  gentlemen  who  visit  my  father.  You  are  veiy  wrong, 
too,  Charles,  in  wishing  to  make  me  hate  people  who  deserve 
esteem  more  than  any  others." 

The  young  girl  had  spoken  these  words  with  considerable 
irritability.  Charles  sat  in  silence,  and  looked  into  her  eyes 
with  a  strange  expression.  Lisa  felt  that  he  was  not  a  little 
distressed,  though  she  could  not  understand  how  it  should 
happen  that  what  she  had  said  could  annoy  him  so  much. 
She  took  his  hand  affectionately,  and  continued — 

"  But,  Charles,  I  do  not  understand  you  ;  what,  then,  ate  I 
to  do  ?  If  you  were  in  my  place,  how  would  you  act  when 
strange  gentlemen  came  and  spoke  with  you  ?" 

"  Feeling  can  alone  determine  that,  Lisa,"  replied  he,  shak- 
ing his  head.  "  I  do  not  know  what  io  advise  you  ;  but  if, 
for  example,  they  were  such  manufacturers  of  compliments 
and  pretty  things  as  the  visitors  who  have  jufet  left,  I  should 
answer  them,  it  is  true,  politely,  but  I  would  not  permit  three 
of  them  to  plant  themselves  round  me,  and  blow  their  empty 
phrases  into  my  ears." 

"  But  then  my  father,  who  compels  me  to  do  it?"  said  Lisa 
perplexed. 

**  One  finds  a  hundred  reasons  for  standing  up,  if  one  tviU 
not  sit  still." 

"Then  I  have  not  acted  properly  in  your  eyes?"  said  the 
poor  girl,  sobbing  and  shedding  tears.  "  I  have  not  condacl^d 
mywlf  rightly?" 


MOVE  HOST  OANSENDONCi:.  ItT 

The  youth  drew  his  chair  nearer  to  Lisa,  and  answered  Id 
a  snpplicating  tone — 

"  Lisa,  forgive  me.  You  must  be  indulgent  to  me ;  it  ii 
not  my  fault  that  I  love  you  so  much.  My  heart  quite  over- 
powers me  ;  I  have  no  command  over  it.  You  are  fair  and 
unspotted  as  a  lily :  I  tremble  at  the  thought  of  a  word  of 
double  meaning  being  uttered  in  your  presence— of  a  breath 
of  impurity  touching  you.  I  love  you  with  a  deep  and  anxious 
reverence  :  is  it  then  surprising  that  the  forward  looks  of  these 
young  fellows  should  alarm  me  ?  Oh,  Lisa,  you  think  that 
my  feeling  towards  them  is  blameworthy.  Perhaps  it  is  so ; 
but  oh,  my  best  friend,  could  you  but  know  what  agony  shooti 
through  my  soul  when  I  see  their  light  conduct,  and  what 
sorrow  it  prepares  for  me,  you  would  have  compassion  on  my 
too  great  love.  You  would  forgive  these  fears,  and  console 
me  in  my  anxiety." 

These  words,  which  he  uttered  in  a  low  tone,  had  a  deep 
effect  on  the  girl.  She  replied  kindly,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes — 

"  Ah,  Charies,  I  do  not  know  what  kind  of  fears  you  may 
have ;  but  let  them  be  what  they  will,  since  it  vexes  you, 
this  shall  not  occur  again.  In  future,  when  gentlemen  come, 
I  shall  rise  and  go  into  another  room." 

"No,  no,  Lisa,  I  do  not  mean  that,"  said  Charles,  half 
ashamed  of  the  consequences  of  what  he  had  said-  "  Be 
polite  and  friendly  with  every  one,  as  is  becoming,  as  well 
as  with  the  gentlemen  who  have  just  left.  You  have  not 
rightly  understood  me,  dearest.  Act  as  before;  but  think 
that  certain  things  pain  me  ;  do  not  forget,  when  placed  in 
these  circumstances  with  visitors,  that  your  father  is  some- 
times deceived,  and  is  regulated  by  the  estimate  you  put  on 
yourself,  in  telling  you  what  you  should  do.  I  know  the 
parity  of  your  heart,  Lisa ;   it  is  all  the  same  to  me  wlio 


188  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  UFB. 

eomes  heie,  but  I  wish  that  yon  shonld  always  be  treated  re- 
spectfully ;  the  smallest  slight — the  very  appearance  of  dis- 
respect— pains  me  most  deeply." 

"  But,  Charles,  you  have  heard  that  Herr  Adolph  and  his 
friends  will  be  often  here ;  I  must  listen  to  their  conversation 
if  I  stay  in  the  room.  Will  you  be  offended  and  annoyed 
every  time  that  occurs?" 

Charles  blushed,  and  immediately  reproached  himself  for 
the  remarks  which  he  had  permitted  himself  to  make  ;  while 
at  the  same  time  he  admired  the  simplicity  and  goodness  of 
heart  of  his  betrothed.  Taking  her  hand,  he  replied,  with  a 
smile — 

" Lisa,  I  am  a  fool.    Will  you  grant  me  a  favour?" 

**  Certainly,  Charles." 

"  Well,  then,  in  sober  earnestness,  will  you  forgive  this 
humour  of  mine  ?  In  fact,  it  would  annoy  me  now,  were  you 
to  alter  your  conduct  in  the  least.  Why  should  I  even  desire 
it,  when  your  father  is  master  here,  and  would  constrain  you 
to  act  as  he  wished,  whether  it  was  agreeable  to  you  or  not?" 

"  Now,  you  are  good,  Charles,"  replied  Lisa.  "  I  must  still 
continue  to  be  friendly  with  these  strangers — is  it  not  so? 
My  father  is  master  here.  Besides,  you  are  in  the  wrong  ir 
the  other  way  too.  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  talked  with  me 
for  a  long  time,  to  be  sure,  but  all  he  said  was  very  proper ; 
and  I  know,  for  my  own  part,  that  I  listened  to  him  with 
great  pleasure." 

Charles  again  felt  a  weight  upon  his  heart ;  but  he  repressed 
the  rising  feeling,  and  answered — 

"  Let  us  forget,  dearest,  what  has  happened.  I  bring  you 
good  news.  My  mother  has  at  last  consented  to  enlarge  our 
house  considerably ;  the  alterations  will  begin  n«s:t  Monday. 
You  shall  have  a  fine  room  for  your  own  use,  handsomely 
ftimished*    Our  house  shall  have  an  entrai»ce  of  its  own; 


MINE  HOST  OANBENDOHCK.  139 

and  a   ooacb-bonse  for  a  little   carriage.      So,  Ll«a,  yon 

will  not  have  to  go  through  the  brewery,  or  Bit  at  the  com- 
mon fire.  You  will  lead  a  quiet  and  peaceful  life,  and  get 
everything  your  heart  can  wish.  Does  that  not  give  you 
pleasure,  dearest?" 

"You  are  too  good,  Charles,  and  I  am  thankful  in  my 
heart  for  so  much  love  and  friendship ;  but  I  believe  father 
has  something  better  to  propose  to  you,  which  will  probably 
please  you  too.  He  is  very  desirous  that  we  should  rent  the 
farm-house  which  stands  empty  behind  the  castle.  The 
thought  appears  to  me  not  a  bad  one.  Then  we  should  have 
no  occasion  to  mix  with  the  peasant  people,  and  could  gradu- 
ally make  the  acquaintance  of  respectable  families." 

"  But,  Lisa,"  interrupted  the  young  man,  rather  impatiently ; 
"  how  is  it  possible  that  you  can  think  of  such  a  thing  ?  / 
leave  my  mother  I  She  is  a  widow,  and  has  no  one  in  the 
world  except  me.  And  even  were  it  not  so,  I  would  not 
do  it ;  from  childhood  upwards  I  have  worked,  and  I  must 
continue  to  do  so,  for  my  own  pleasure  and  health,  for  my 
mother's  welfare — for  you,  Lisa,  to  make  your  life  easier  and 
happier ;  and  that  I  may  have  the  feeling  that  the  fruits  of 
my  labour  are  contributing  to  your  happiness." 

"Oh,  that  is  not  necessary,"  sighed  Lisa;  "our  parents 
already  possess  sufficient  money  and  property." 

"  And  then,  Lisa,  we  stand  now  in  the  foremost  place  among 
those  of  our  own  station.  Your  father  is  one  of  the  largest 
proprietors  in  the  whole  district,  and  our  brewery  stands 
second  to  none.  Shall  I,  then,  consent  to  act  the  upstart 
purse-proud  millionnaire — humble  myself  to  procure  the 
friendship  of  proud  people,  and  allow  myself  to  despise  my 
former  companions,  like  one  who  would  fain  play  the  fine 
gentleman?  No,  Lisa,  that  might  flatter  many  a  one's  self* 
bve — it  would  make  me  feel  mean  and  miserable.     It  ii 


TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

better  to  be  respected  and  loved  by  peasants,  than  hiire  peoplt 
of  rank  look  askance  and  laugh  at  you." 

Lisa  was  about  to  reply  to  Charles's  warm  speech,  but  juat 
at  that  moment  Kobe  opened  the  door  with  visible  haste,  and 
advancing  to  the  young  man,  said  quickly — 

"Charles,  have  you  a  desire  to  quarrel  for  a  couple  of 
hours  with  our  respected  landlord  ? — No  ?  Well,  then,  make 
haste  off,  for  he  is  furious  at  you.  You  must  have  trode  on 
his  toes  most  cruelly.  If  you  do  not  go,  he  will  turn  the 
house  upside  down." 

"  0  Charles  I "  said  Lisa  anxiously,  pressing  his  hand,  "  go, 
till  my  father's  anger  is  past.  This  afternoon  he  will  have 
forgotten  all  about  it." 

The  young  brewer  shook  his  head,  and,  with  a  troubled 
look,  took  leave  of  his  betrothed,  and  hastened  out  of  the 
house  by  the  back-door. 

Kob6  followed,  and  said,  as  he  parted  from  him — 

"  Fear  nothing,  Charles ;  I  will  keep  an  eye  on  the  sails, 
and  give  you  a  hint  if  I  see  the  vessel  going  out  of  the  right 
track.  There's  a  screw  loose  about  our  Baas.  But  do  you 
keep  your  mind  at  ease — the  humour  will  soon  pass.  The 
weathercock  on  the  steeple  turns  with  every  breath  of  wind, 
like  a  fool ;  but  for  all  that  it  ahows  what  kind  of  weatker  wi 
upt  gmug  to  have.'' 


HOST  OAXaSHDOHOB.  141 


CHAPTEB  T. 


HoBonr  ii  womanli  ^orj ; 
Beauty  but  a  tender  flowtt.* 


Two  months  had  passed.  Early  one  morning  three  or  km 
young  peasants  stood  in  the  smithy  and  chatted  of  varioui 
things.  Sus  held  a  piece  of  iion  in  the  fire  with  one  hand, 
and  worked  the  bellows  mih  the  other,  slowly  enjoying  his 
pipe  the  while. 

"  Well,  who  has  heard  the  news?"  cried  one  of  the  young 
men.     "  Lisa  Gansendonck  is  going  to  marry  a  Baron." 

"  0  ho  I "  laughed  the  smith  ;  "  next  year  Easter  falls  oh  a 
Friday.     Go  and  sell  your  wares  at  another  market." 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  true  ;  she  is  to  marry  the  young  fellow  who 
has  been  staying  these  six  weeks  in  the  St.  Sebastian." 

"  The  ox  will  calve  if  all  goes  well,"  cried  Sus. 

"  You  do  not  believe  it?  Swaggering  Jack  himself  told  it 
to  the  notary." 

"  Then  I  believe  it  less  than  ever." 

"Do  you  know  what  I  think?  Baas  Gansendonck  is 
brewing  bitter  beer  for  himself.  Strange  reports  are  already 
abroad  about  young  Lisa.  Folk  speak  of  her  as  the  Jews  of 
pork." 

"Swaggering  Jack  only  gets  what  he  deserves,  and  the 
light-beaded  girl  too.  *  He  who  plays  with  the  cat  must  bide 
scratching,'  says  the  proverb." 

**  And  the  unfortunate  Charles  I — ^he  is  a  fool  to  be  rexed 


142  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

about  it  I'd  see  her  to  the  deuce  first,  with  her  fine  Hen 
Baron." 

"  There  comes  Charles  himself/'  said  one  of  the  peasants 
who  stood  at  the  door.  "  Even  at  this  distance,  one  can 
easily  see  that  he  is  out  of  spirits.  He  haugs  his  head  on  nis 
breast  as  if  he  were  searching  for  a  needle.  He  looks  as  if  he 
had  already  ordered  his  coffin." 

All  turned  their  heads  and  looked  towards  Charles,  who 
was  coming  along  slowly  and  carelessly,  with  downcast  eyee 
and  dreamy  look. 

Bus  brought  his  hammer  down  upon  the  anvil  with  a  tre- 
mendous blow,  and  muttered  to  himself,  as  if  some  great 
▼exation  had  suddenly  had  the  effect  of  paralysing  his  voice. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  asked  the  others. 

"When  I  see  Charles,  my  blood  boils,"  cried  Sus.  "I 
would  bind  myself  not  to  taste  a  drop  of  beer  for  a  whole 
year,  if  I  could  just  come  down  once  on  Swaggering  Jack's 
back — so.  Ah,  the  proud  booby  I  He  will  bring  his  daughter 
into  disgrace  through  his  silly  fancies — he  knows  that  well 
enough ;  though  indeed  the  light-minded  girl  deserves  no  bet- 
ter. But  when  I  see  him  make  my  good  friend  Charles  pine 
away  with  grief  in  this  fashion,  hunting  him  into  the  grave — a 
young  fellow  like  a  tree,  well-to-do,  clever,  and  good-hearted, 
worth  more  than  a  hundred  such  Swaggering  Jacks  and 
fashionable  fops — it  makes  me  almost  mad.  Why,  you  see,  I 
wish  no  man  harm ;  but  if  Gansendonck  should  break  his 
neck  accidentally  some  of  these  days,  I  should  say  it  was 
well  done,  and  a  judgment  of  God  I " 

"  Keep  your  mind  at  ease,  Sus.  Pride  goes  before  a  faU. 
If  the  ant  gets  wings,  it  soon  dies." 

"Don't  be  too  free  with  your  threats,  Sus.  Swaggering 
Jack  has  said  that  he  will  never  rest  till  he  has  yon  in  the 
lock-ap.' 


MXHB  HOST  OAN8ENDONCK.  148 

•*  Pah  t  I  care  no  more  for  the  boasting  fool  than  if  he  were 
painted  on  the  wall." 

'*  Bnt  could  yon  not  persnade  Charles  to  let  her  go  for  wh*t 
aheis  worth?" 

"  Ah,  there  no  medicine  will  work  a  cure ;  the  more  they 
treat  him  like  a  fool  in  the  St.  Sebastian,  the  more  vexing  it 
is.  They  make  him  believe  there  that  the  cat  lays  eggs ;  he 
is  quite  out  of  his  senses,  I  think.  There  is  no  more  spirit  in 
him.  If  one  speaks  to  him  about  it,  the  tears  come  into  his 
eyes ;  he  turns  away,  says  good-bye,  and  you  see  no  more  of 
him  till  the  next  day." 

"  Can  Kobd  then  not  make  his  master  understand,  that  if  * 
crow  will  fly  with  swans'  feathers,  it  is  sure  to  fall  and  be 
drowned  in  the  sea?" 

'*  Why,  Baas  and  his  servant  are  of  the  same  stamp ;  two 
wet  sacks  won't  dry  one  another." 

**  Be  quiet,  Sus ;  here  he  is.  I  think  he  is  coming  to  the 
smithy." 

Charles  advanced,  and  greeted  the  peasants  with  a  forced 
smile.  Without  saying  a  word,  he  went  to  the  working-bench, 
and  kept  turning  the  screw  in  a  dreamy  way,  or  carelessly 
taking  up  some  tool,  while  the  young  peasants  looked  at  him 
with  curiosity  and  compassion. 

In  truth,  a  ceaseless  suffering  must  have  been  gnawing  at 
the  young  man's  heart — so  altered  was  he  in  a  short  time. 
His  face  was  pale  and  ashy ;  his  eyes  wandered  from  object 
to  object  with  a  dull,  lifeless  expression,  or  stared  in  a  fixed 
and  peculiar  manner  at  some  trifling  object ;  his  cheeks  were 
sunk  and  haggard.  His  whole  appearance  betokened  indif- 
ference and  negligence  ;  his  clothes  were  scarcely  clean,  and 
his  hair  fell  uncombed  upon  his  neck. 

"  Now,  Charles,"  cried  Sus,  "  here  you  come  again  like  the 
■weet  mmshine,  without  uttering  a  word.    Gome,  come,  throw 


144  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

hateful  thoughts  over  the  hedge,  and  think  that  you  aw  « 
better  man  than  those  who  are  the  cause  of  your  griet  Make 
the  sign  of  the  cross  and  have  done  with  it,  and  then  drink  a 
good  draught  of  beer.  Vex  yourself  as  you  may,  you  will  not 
drive  sense  into  Swaggering  Jack's  pate.  And  of  his  dainty 
daughter  you  will  make  nothing  but  a" — 

Charies  trembled,  and  his  wild  look  made  the  word  stick 
in  Sns's  throat. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued,  "  I  know  well  that  I  must  not  open 
the  cask.  Kill  poor  patients  first,  and  then  push  the  medi- 
cine after  them  into  the  grave.  But  it  does  not  do  to  suiSfer 
too  long  from  foolish  fancies.  Do  you  know  what  Swagger- 
ing Jack  has  said  ?  Ma'mselle  Lisa  is  going  to  marry  Herr 
von  Bruinkasteel  before  notary  and  priest." 

"  Rather  him  than  me,"  said  another.  "  He  will  have  a 
precious  piece  in  her — a  vagabond  peasant  girl,  who  sees  no 
other  way  of  saving  her  virtue." 

Charles  had  grasped  the  stock  of  the  screw  convulsively, 
and  directed  a  fierce  look  at  the  speakers. 

"Lisa,"  he  said  with  a  hollow  voice,  "is  innocent  and 
pure.     You  slander  her,  you  speak  unjustly." 

After  speaking  these  few  words,  he  turned  and  slowly  left 
the  smithy,  without  paying  any  attention  to  his  friend  Sus, 
who  had  again  addressed  him.  He  went  unsteadily  across 
the  road,  and  struck  into  a  footpath  which  led  through  the 
fields.  On  the  way  he  spoke  aloud  to  himself,  at  one  time 
standing  still  and  stamping  his  feet,  at  another  hartening  on 
with  increased  speed ;  and  so  he  dreamily  wandered  on,  till 
he  found  himself  a  considerable  distance  from  the  village, 
and  suddenly  heard  his  name  called  at  the  comer  of  a  fir- 
wood.  There  he  saw  Kobe  sitting  on  the  stile,  with  a  bottle 
In  one  hand  and  a  bit  of  meat  in  the  other ;  a  rifle  lay  near 
bim« 


IfIHE  HOST  GANSENDONCK.  lid 

"Ha,  Kob^I"  cried  the  young  man  with  pleasure;  "  wliM 
are  you  doing  here?" 

"A  new  whim  of  our  respected  landlord,"  he  replied. 
"  Whenever  he  can  want  me,  he  packs  me  oflf  here  to  act  as  a 
kind  of  wood-bailiff.  I  sit  here  and  take  care  that  the  trees 
don't  fly  away." 

"  Come  a  bit  with  me,"  said  Charles. 

"I  have  just  finished  my  dinner,"  he  replied,  rising. 
•*  Look,  Charles,  that  is  a  fine  rifle.  The  cock  is  so  rusty, 
that  one  could  not  pull  it  were  he  to  yoke  a  horse  to  it ;  and 
the  barrel  has  been  loaded  for  twenty  years  and  three  months. 
Like  master,  like  weapon." 

"Come,  Kobe,"  replied  the  brewer,  "tell  me  something 
which  may  ease  my  mind  a  little.     How  goes  it  at  home  ?" 

"  1  don't  know  on  what  side  I  shall  attack  the  rotten  apple. 
In  that  quarter  everything  goes  wrong.  Mine  host  does  not 
know  what  to  do  for  joy :  he  dreams  aloud  of  barons  and 
castles.     He  is  at  the  notary's  thrice  a  day.'* 

"Why,  what  does  that  mean?"  asked  Charles,  alarmed. 

"  He  says  Lisa  is  to  be  married  in  a  short  time  to  Herr  von 
Bruinkasteel." 

The  brewer  grew  pale,  and  looked  sadly  and  anxiously  $i 
his  companion. 

"  So  he  says,"  continued  Kobe.  "  But  the  young  Baron 
knows  nothing  about  it,  and  thinks  of  everything  but  that." 

"And  Lisa?" 

"  Kor  Lisa  either." 

"Ah  I"  sighed  Charles,  as  if  a  load  had  fallen  from  hit 
heart.     "  This  matter  pains  me  deeply." 

"  Were  I  you,  I  would  see  into  the  matter  at  once :  let 
weeds  grow  too  long,  and  they  will  eat  up  the  finest  com. 
You  never  come  to  the  St.  Sebastian  but  when  Herr  von 
Bruinkasteel  is  gone  out ;  and  there  you  sit  fot  half  *  d^f 


1 46  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

bemoaning  yourself  in  a  way  that  would  draw  pity  from 
a  stone.  Lisa  inquires  into  the  cause  of  your  distress,  and 
you  make  her  understand  that  you  are  ill,  and  she  belieyes 
you." 

"  But,  Kob^,  what  can  I  do  ?  When  I  give  the  slightest 
hint  of  the  truth,  she  at  once  bursts  into  tears.  She  does  not 
understand  me." 

"  Woman's  tears  are  cheap ;  I  would  not  place  much  im- 
portance on  them.  If  the  calf  is  drowned,  'tis  of  no  ubo 
emptying  the  well.     A  dog  makes  short  work  of  a  sausage." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  muttered  Charles  with 
alarm.     "  Do  you  suspect  Lisa?     Do  you  fear  that  she" — 

"  If  I  knew  that  a  hair  of  my  head  thought  any  evil  of 
Lisa,  I  would  tear  it  out.  The  poor  thing  fanc^s  that  all 
this  fooling  and  French  talking  are  fine  manners.  And  if  at 
any  time,  out  of  love  for  you,  she  dismisses  the  Baron  rather 
coldly,  then  down  comes  mine  host  upon  her  and  compels  her 
to  treat  him  kindly.  Herr  von  Bniinkasteel  must  surely  be 
an  excellent  man  I  Mine  host  throws  Lisa  into  his  arms  ten 
times  a  week  1 " 

"What I  into  his  arms?"  cried  Charles  fiercely. 

"  That  is  only  a  mode  of  speech,"  continued  Kob^ ;  "  if  you 
do  not  understand  me,  so  much  the  better." 

"What  shall  I  do?"  cried  Charles,  stamping  his  feet  in 
liespair. 

"  It  does  not  lie  concealed  under  the  earth,  Charles.  Were 
it  my  affair,  I  should  go  boldly  through  with  the  matter ; 
better  a  window  broken  than  the  house  destroyed." 

"What  dc  you  mean,  for  Heaven's  sake?  Speak  more 
clearly." 

*'  Why, — quarrel  with  Herr  Victor.  If  there  were  to  be  a 
regular  commotion,  it  would  at  least  bring  about  a  change ; 
and  the  bad  generally  becomes  better  when  it  changes." 


mXE  HOST  OANSENDOMCK.  147 

•*  If  he  would  only  give  me  an  opportunity,"  cried  Charles ; 
**but  everything  he  says  is  so  cunningly  calculated,  that  I 
cannot  take  hold  of  it  and  chastise  him,  even  if  I  were  burst- 
ing with  revenge." 

"  Come,  come,  be  who  wishes  to  find,  need  not  seek  long. 
Tread  on  his  foot  unintentionally ;  his  shoes,  you  know,  aro 
none  of  the  thickest.     That  will  set  the  game  agoing." 

"  Ah,  Kobe,  what  would  Lisa  say  to  that  ?  Shall  I  dam- 
age her  reputation  by  an  act  from  which  one  would  infer  that 
I  suspected  something  amiss?" 

"  You  dear  innocent  I  and  do  you  think  Lisa  is  not  already 
in  the  people's  mouths  ?  The  most  dreadftil  things  are  said 
of  her  daily.  The  whole  thing  hangs  on  the  church  bell-rope, 
and  everybody  hangs  something  on  that." 

"  By  Heaven  I  she  is  innocent,  and  yet  every  one  accuses 
her  of  acting  badly  I** 

"  Charles,  Charles,  you  have  no  more  blood  in  your  heart  1 
You  see  the  evil  growing  daily,  and  bow  your  head  to  it  like 
a  feeble  child.  You  see  everything  combining  to  bring  your 
innocent  bride  to  ruin — Victor's  seducing  conversation,  her 
father's  insane  pride,  and  her  own  liking  for  everything  that 
smacks  of  city  life.  Nobody  can  rescue  her  but  you ;  and  you 
are  like  a  guardian  angel  who  sleeps  while  the  devil  is  laying 
a  trap  for  the  soul.  By  your  timid  compliance  you  expose 
Lisa  helpless  and  unaided  to  this  threatening  danger.  If  she 
unhappily  stumbles,  who  is  to  blame?  Heaven  helps  those 
who  help  themselves ;  have  some  spirit,  act,  be  a  man  I  Says 
not  the  proverb,  *  While  they  look  about  to  find  the  way,  the 
wolf  carries  off  the  lamb'?" 

After  a  pause  Charles  replied — 

"  Alas,  alas  I  everything  alarms  me.  What  can  I  do  ?  The 
moment  Lisa  looks  at  me,  my  courage  is  all  gone.  Kob^ 
my  heart  is  rick ;  I  must  bear  with  patience  my  bitter  lot" 


148  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

^^  Defend  her  at  least  from  the  slander  and  insolt  of  tht 

Baron." 

"  Insult  I     Has  he  insulted  her  ?" 

"  Do  you  know  what  Herr  von  Bniinkasteel  jestingly  said 
to  his  comrades  the  day  before  yesterday  ?  Adolph's  game- 
keeper was  present  at  the  time." 

He  approached  the  brewer,  and  whispered  some  worda  in 
his  ear. 

"  You  lie  I  you  lie  I"  cried  Charles,  throwing  his  companion 
from  him.     "  He  did  not  say  that." 

"  As  you  please,  Charles,"  grumbled  Kobe ;  "  it  is  all  the 
same  to  me.  I  lie,  and  the  gamekeeper  lies ;  it  is  not  true, 
it  cannot  be.  Herr  von  Bniinkasteel  loves  Lisa  far  too  much 
to  say  anything  of  the  kind  I " 

Charles  had  grasped  a  iBr-stem  for  support;  his  breast 
heaved  violently,  he  breathed  hoarsely,  and  his  eyes  sparkled 
with  a  singular  glow  under  his  knitted  eyebrows.  What 
Kobe  had  whispered  to  him  must  have  inflicted  a  deep  wound, 
for  he  stood  there  trembling  like  a  reed,  and  furious  as  a 
roused  lion.  Suddenly  he  closed  his  fist,  and  approaching 
his  companion  like  a  man  insane,  said — 

"  Ha  I    Is  it  a  murder  you  would  have  me  commit,  devil?" 

Kobe  retired  a  few  paces  in  terror,  and  stammered  out — 

"  Charles,  is  it  in  jest  or  earnest  that  you  put  on  a  face 
like  famine  ?  I  have  done  you  no  harm.  If  you  would  pre- 
fer to  see  my  back,  you  have  only  to  say  so ;  with  a  *  good- 
day  '  everything  is  over,  and  each  goes  his  own  way." 

"  Stay  where  you  are  I "  exclaimed  the  brewer. 

"  Then  open  your  hands,"  replied  Kob^.  "  I  don't  like  to 
Bee  closed  fists." 

Charles  looked  to  the  earth  again,  and  stood  for  a  long 
time  motionless,  without  looking  at  his  companion.  At  Uft 
he  raised  his  head,  and  asked  with  a  tremulous  voioe— 


MINE  HOST  GAN8END0NCK.  149 

**KoW,  is  Victor  von  Brainkasteel  at  present  in  the  St. 
Sebastian?" 

"  Yes — but,"  cried  he  anxioisly,  "yon  are  not  to  go  there, 
Charles ;  I  will  not  permit  you,  were  I  to  wrestle  with  you 
till  every  bone  in  my  body  was  broken.  I  do  not  understand 
you ;  you  are,  as  the  proverb  says,  now  too  wise  and  now  too 
stupid,  but  always  queer  and  crooked.  You  would  do  fine 
things  at  the  St.  Sebastian  just  now  1  You  are  like  a  mad 
bull." 

Without  paying  any  attention  to  Kobe's  remarks,  Charles 
turned  round  and  struck  hastily  into  a  path  which  led  towards 
Baas  Gansendonck's  dwelling.  Kobe  threw  down  his  rifle, 
and  springing  forward,  planted  himself  in  front  of  him,  and 
held  him  back  by  main  force. 

"Let  me  go  I"  said  Charles,  while  he  looked  at  Kobd  with 
a  bitter  laugh ;  "  you  shall  not  hinder  me.  Why  will  you 
compel  me  to  do  you  harm?" 

The  coldness  with  which  he  said  these  words  astonished 
KobS  not  a  little ;  he  did  not  let  him  free,  however,  but  asked 
him — 

"Will  you  promise  me  to  be  patient,  and  to  keep  your 
hands  in  your  pockets?" 

"  I  mean  to  do  harm  to  nobody,"  said  the  young  brewetv 

"What  is  your  intention,  then?" 

"  To  follow  your  advice,  Kob^ ;  call  them  to  acoount  about 
everything,  and  speak  out  openly  what  lies  so  heavily  on  my 
heart.  Fear  nothing,  Kobe ;  I  do  not  forget  that  I  have  a 
mother." 

"  Aha  I  your  senses  are  restored,  I  see.  You  could  give  a 
lectire  to  the  weathercock  on  the  church-tower  now  I  You 
do  not  dissemble,  do  you  ?  Well,  then,  I  shall  go  with  you. 
Be  cool  and  firm,  Charles;  bold  speech  is  half  the  battle. 
Make  some  stir,  show  your  teeth,  and  read  gospel  truth  to 


100  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

mine  noit  for  once  in  ais  life ;  lie  is  not  likely  to  take  a  fever 
from  excess  of  courage,  I  assure  you.  Heaven  knows,  if  yon 
take  the  proper  way  with  him,  whether  he  may  not  request 
the  Baron  to  pass  by  his  door  henceforth  I  After  pain  comes 
pleasure  I   I  think  I  see  the  fiddler  sitting  on  the  roof  already." 

Both  of  them  went  along  the  path  with  measured  steps. 
By  the  way,  Kobe  opened  up  a  consoling  prospect  to  the 
young  man,  and  encouraged  him  gently,  at  the  same  time 
counselling  him  to  be  collected  and  determined,  and  not  to 
heed  Lisa's  tears  this  time,  till  he  had  quite  attained  the  object 
he  had  in  view.  As  they  approached  the  St.  Sebastian,  he  left 
his  melancholy  companion  with  the  remark,  that  it  was  still 
too  early  for  him  to  return  home — ^he  must  still  play  the  wood- 
bailiff^or  an  hour.  Charles  pressed  his  hand  gratefully,  and 
promised  to  follow  his  advice. 

So  soon  as  the  young  man  found  himself  alone,  he  felt 
as  if  a  bandage  were  taken  from  his  eyes ;  he  saw  clearly 
how  matters  stood,  and  what  he  ought  to  do.  He  resolved 
to  demand  from  Baas  Gansendonck  an  explanation  of  his 
conduct,  and  to  convince  him — whether  he  took  it  well  or  ill 
— ^that  his  folly  not  only  damaged  Lisa's  good  name,  but  even 
seriously  endangered  her  honour.  As  he  approached  the 
house,  the  young  man's  countenance  expressed  calmness  and 
determination. 

So  soon  as  he  had  reached  the  back-door  of  the  St.  Sebas- 
tian, however,  this  resolution  was  suddenly  altered.  For 
within,  the  seductive  voice  of  the  Baron  was  heard  singing  a 
french  romance,  whose  tone  and  music  breathed  love  and 
tenderness. 

When  Charles  heard  the  song,  he  stood  trembHng,  and 
listened  witlr  feverish  attention  to  the  words — 

*  Ponrqaoi,  t«ndre  EUm,  toujoon  TOOi 
A  mm  Mrin  daignai  root  randn." 


^  MINE  HOST  GANSENDONCK.  151 

The  brewer's  hands  were  violently  conynlsed;  a  fisarfbl 
•koTm  began  to  rage  in  his  tortnred  sonl. 

"  Ayez  moios  de  rigaenr ; 
Si  mon  amour  tous  toacbfl^ 
Qu'un  mot  de  votre  boache 
Oooronne  mon  ardeor." 

Lisa's  voice  timidly  mingled  itself  with  the  Baron's:  she 
too  sang  the  tender  words. 

The  blood  boiled  impetuously  in  the  youth's  veins;  his 
eyes  sparkled,  he  gnashed  his  teeth,  and  as  the  closing  verses 
of  the  romance  fell  from  Lisa  and  the  Baron,  like  a  consum- 
ing fire  upon  his  heart,  his  very  hair  stood  on  end— 

"PitU !  mon  trouble  est  extttai»— 
Ah  I  ditea  '  Je  Toua  aime  I' 
JeToosaime!" 

"Bravo!  bravo  I"  cried  mine  host,  clapping  his  hands. 
"Ah,  how  beautiful  I" 

A  heavy  groan  escaped  from  the  young  man's  bosom,  as  he 
just  at  that  moment  entered  th«  room.  At  his  appearance, 
all  sprang  from  their  seats  with  alarm  or  surprise ;  Lisa 
uttered  a  shrill  cry  of  pain,  and  imploringly  held  out  her 
arms  towards  Charles ;  the  Baron  assumed  a  proud  and  in- 
quiring look,  while  mine  host  stamped  his  feet  with  impatience, 
and  muttered  some  insulting  language. 

For  a  time,  Charles  stood  as  if  unconscious,  his  hand  resting 
on  a  chair ;  he  trembled  so  violently  that  his  knees  almost 
knocked  together  under  the  weight  of  his  body ;  his  counte- 
nance was  as  pale  as  death ;  his  cheeks  and  brow  seemed 
convulsed.  His  whole  appearance  must  have  been  some- 
thing frightful,  for  the  Baron,  courageous  as  he  was,  grew 
pale  likewise,  and  retreated  a  few  paces  to  get  out  of  the 
reach  of  the  raging  brewer.  Mine  host  alone  treated  the 
thing  mockingly,  and  looked  at  Charles  with  a  contemptuous 
laugh.    Suddenly  tne  young  man  threw  a  fierce  look  at  tiie 


159  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

Baron,  fiill  of  hate  and  revenge.  The  latter  felt  bimielf  in- 
sulted by  it,  and  exclaimed  haughtily — 

*'  Well  I  what  means  all  this  child's-play  here  ?  Do  you 
know  who  I  am  ?  I  beg  you  to  put  an  end  to  that  insulting 
stare." 

Furiously  the  brewer  seized  the  chair,  and  was  about  to 
raise  it  to  fell  the  Baron  to  the  earth,  when  Lisa  threw  herself 
on  his  neck,  screaming  and  weeping  bitterly.  She  looked  at 
him  so  imploringly  and  so  affectionately,  and  called  him  by 
such  sweet  names,  that  he  at  once  let  the  chair  fall  as  if 
deprived  of  power,  and  said  with  a  deep  sigh — 

"  Oh,  thanks,  thanks,  Lisa  I  You  have  saved  me.  Had 
it  not  been  you,  the  deed  would  have  been  done." 

The  maiden  still  continued  to  hold  both  hands,  and  to  calm 
and  console  him  with  words  of  affection ;  she  perceived  clearly, 
from  his  whole  aspect,  that  wrath  still  blazed  furiously  in  his 
heart,  and  exerted  herself  to  allay  his  passion. 

Meanwhile  the  Baron  approached  the  door,  and  was  about 
to  leave  the  house,  but  mine  host  called  out — 

"How  now,  my  lord,  are  you  afraid  of  a  mad  boor? 
Stay  where  you  are — ^my  servants  will  turn  him  out  of  the 
house." 

"I  fear  no  mad  boor  in  the  whole  world,"  replied  the 
Baron,  "  but  it  does  not  become  me  to  enter  into  a  contest 
with  a  mad  boor." 

At  these  insulting  words,  Charles  tore  himself  from  his  be- 
loved, and  hastened  towards  the  door,  to  follow  the  Baron 
into  the  street ;  but  mine  host  seized  him,  and  exclaimed  in 
a  violent  passion — 

"  Hold,  fellow  I  you  would  insult  both  of  us  now !  This 
lasts  too  long.  What!  you  would  hunt  people  out  of  my 
house,  and  play  the  landlord  here  !  Throw  chairs  at  the  Herr 
Baron  von  Bruinkasteei  t    What  prevents  me  sending  for  tb* 


MINE  HOST  aANSENDONCK.  15S 

police  ?  Come,  I  will  tell  you  things  whicli  i+  is  unnecessary 
my  daughter  should  hear ;  and  so  we  shall  bring  matters  to 
a  conclusion  once  for  all.  If  not,  I  shall  show  you  who  is 
master  here." 

A  bitter  smile  played  round  Charles's  lips  as  he  followed 
mine  host  into  another  room.  The  latter  bolted  the  door, 
and  then,  with  a  threatening  look,  stood  silently  before  the 
brewer,  who  was  evidently  making  great  exertions  to  restrain 
his  anger  and  be  composed,  as  was  necessary  in  this  long 
desired  conversation,  if  he  would  attain  his  end. 

"  Make  as  many  faces  as  you  please,"  said  mine  host ;  "  I 
laugh  at  your  absurd  whims.  Come,  tell  me  quickly,  who 
^ves  you  permission  to  come  to  my  house  and  act  in  this 
boorish  way  to  everybody  ?  But  perhaps  it  is  your  intention 
to  purchase  my  daughter?" 

"  Do  not  rouse  me,  for  Heaven's  sake  I  Just  give  me 
liberty  to  speak,  and  I  will  come  to  an  explanation  with  you  ; 
and  if  you  do  not  choose  to  understand  me,  I  shall  leave  your 
house  and  never  cross  your  threshold  again." 

"  Well  then,  go  on,  for  I  am  curious  to  hear  what  you 
have  got  to  say  ;  I  know  quite  well  what  song  you  will  sing ; 
but  I  assure  you,  you  will  get  nothing  by  it — you  knock  at 
a  deaf  man's  door." 

"My  father  once  befriended  you,  and  rescued  you  from  ruin. 
You  gave  a  promise  to  him  when  on  his  deathbed,  that  Lisa 
should  be  my  wife.     You  have  encouraged  our  love." 

"  Times  change,  and  so  do  men." 

"And  now  that  you  have  inherited  a  bit  of  dirt— dirt, 
that  is  called  gold,  you  will  not  only  break  your  sacred 
word  like  an  ingrate,  but  you  stain  the  reputation  of  my 
betrothed.  For  the  vain  hope  of  a  rank,  which  you  can  never 
attain,  you  sell  her  good  name,  drag  her  hDUOur  through  the 
mire,  and  " — 


154  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFI. 

"  0  ho  I  what  tone  is  this  to  take  ?  and  to  whom  do  yoa 
think  you  are  speaking?" 

" — and  me  you  are  killing  with  grief  and  despair.  Not 
because  you  will  rob  me  of  Lisa ;  no  I  that  you  cannot  do, 
for  she  loves  me.  But  can  a  man  suffer  a  greater  agony  of 
soul  than  to  see  his  beloved,  his  bride,  ruined  before  his  eyes 
— to  see  her  stained  with  all  the  frivolity  and  wantonness 
which  a  city  breeds  ?  To  be  compelled  to  lead  her  to  the 
altar,  clothed  with  the  rent  garment  of  a  violated  purity." 

"Where  have  you  picked  up  this  stuff?  To  the  devil 
with  all  that.  I  am  master,  and  what  I  do  is  well  done  ;  do 
you  imagine  that  you  have  a  better  head  than  Baas  Gan- 
sendonck  ?" 

"  Oh  I  blind  man  1  you  compel  your  daughter  to  listen  to 
the  Baron's  poisonous  words.  Every  one  of  his  flattering  lies 
is  another  stain  on  her  pure  soul.  You  force  her  into  destruc- 
tion, and  should  she  fall,  ah  I  then,  the  father  has  dug  the 
grave  in  which  the  honour  of  his  child  is  to  be  buried.  What 
do  you  expect  ?  That  she  will  marry  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  ? 
It  is  impossible.  Even  were  there  no  father  and  relations 
to  prevent  him,  he  himself  would  reject  a  woman  who  was 
already  dishonoured,  in  his  eyes,  by  your  indecent  invitations 
and  his  own  base  designs." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Baas  Gansendonck  mockingly ;  "  I  did  not 
know  you  had  so  many  notes  to  your  song.  She  is  not  to 
marry  the  Baron,  say  you  ?  We  shall  see  that.  If  you  be- 
have yourself  well  in  the  interval,  you  may  come  to  the 
wedding.  Drive  love  out  of  your  head,  Charles ;  that  is 
the  best  thing  you  can  do ;  otherwise,  you  may  choke  with 
it !  Stay  away  from  our  house  in  a  friendly  way — for  you 
see  the  Baron  is  here  almost  all  day  long,  and  you  only  run 
between  his  legs.  He  is  not  the  man  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  peasants." 


XDnS  HOST  GANSENDONCK.  166 

**  Then  my  mortal  agony  has  no  power  oyer  yon  ?  He  is 
to  come  here  as  formerly,  to  flatter  her,  to  betray  her  with 
shameful  words,  to  sing  of  wantonness  and  passion,  and  fill 
my  Lisa's  heart  with  a  poison  which  will  infect  her  whole 
nature?" 

"  Poison  I  what  kind  of  language  is  this  ?  Because  you, 
forsooth,  cannot  rival  him  I  That  is  the  way  boors  always 
speak  of  city  people ;  they  burst  with  envy  when  they  see 
any  one  who  has  good  manners  and  is  accomplished.  But 
ease  your  heart,  my  good  friend — go  on,  but  it  will  do  you  no 
good.  The  Baron  shall  visit  here  as  formerly,  and  Lisa  shall 
become  a  fine  lady.  And  if  you  were  to  split  your  head  in 
two  about  it,  it  will  be  of  no  more  assistance  to  you  than  a 
fly  in  your  brewing-vat.  I  have  a  right  to  do  what  I  please 
with  my  house  and  daughter,  and  no  one  has  a  right  to  in- 
trude— you  as  little  as  another." 

"The  right  1"  cried  Charles  with  a  bitter  laugh.  "The 
right  to  ruin  your  child's  honour  I  To  expose  her,  pure  and 
innocent  as  she  is,  to  the  defamation  of  every  tongue  1  To 
make  her  the  object  of  universal  contempt  and  universal 
mockery,  as  the  wanton  paramour  of  a  dissolute  young  man  I 
No,  you  have  not  the  right.  Lisa  is  mine.  If  her  father 
will  force  her  down  into  the  mire  of  shame,  I  will  rescue  her 
triumphantly.  I  had  forgotten  my  duty — but  now  I  see  it. 
Your  Baron  shall  never  return.  Lisa  shall  be  cared  for  against 
your  will.     No,  I  respect  your  unhappy  ambition  no  more." 

"Is  that  all  you  have  got  to  say?"  asked  Baas  with  the 
greatest  indifference.  "  Then  I  just  inform  you,  that  I  forbid 
you  my  house  ;  and  if  you  venture  to  come  here  again,  I  will 
get  you  turned  out  of  doors  by  my  servants  and  the  police." 

"  An  inn  is  open  to  every  man." 

"  There  are  rooms  enough  in  my  house  where  the  Baroa 
•an  8)^ak  with  my  daughter  " 


15$  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

Exhausted  and  dejected,  the  young  man  satLK  into  a  ohahr, 
let  his  head  sink  on  his  breast,  and  remained  speechless  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  mine  host,  "  hold  up  your  head,  rour 
grief  will  soon  be  healed.  Go  home  and  keep  away  from 
the  St.  Sebastian,  without  troubling  yourself  more  about  Lisa. 
On  that  condition  we  shall  still  be  good  friends.  I  will  forget 
your  pride  and  your  strange  humours.  Good  sense,  though 
long  of  coming,  is  still  wisdom.    Well,  are  you  going?" 

Charles  rose.  His  countenance  had  undergone  a  complete 
change.  The  excitement,  in  which  he  had  been,  had  disap- 
peared ;  the  feverish  impulse  to  do  something  had  exhausted 
itself.  The  fruitlessness  of  his  expostulations  and  defiances 
had  robbed  him  of  all  courage.  With  folded  hands  and  an 
imploring  look,  he  approached  Baas,  and  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  said — 

"  0  Gansendonck  I  have  compassion  on  me  and  on  Lisa  I 
Be  assured,  I  must  die.  By  the  memory  of  my  father,  I  con- 
jure you  to  open  your  eyes,  and  give  me  your  daughter  to  wife 
before  her  reputation  is  quite  blasted.  I  will  make  her  happy, 
love  her,  care  for  her,  and  work  for  her  like  a  slave.  I  will 
love  and  honour  you  like  a  son,  and  obey  you  like  a  hired 
servant." 

When  mine  host  saw  Charles  humble  himself  before  him, 
he  felt  some  compassion  for  him,  and  replied — 

"  Charles,  I  will  not  say  that  you  are  not  a  good  young  man, 
and  that  my  Lisa  would  not  have  a  good  husband  in  you." 

"  Oh,  Baas  1  for  God's  sake,"  entreated  the  young  man, 
looking  into  his  eyes  full  of  hope ;  "  for  God's  sake,  pity  me, 
and  give  me  Lisa  I  I  will  falfil  your  smallest  wishes  with 
childlike  submission — sell  the  brewery,  dwell  in  a  fine  house, 
even  abjure  the  rank  of  peasant,  and  alter  m^  whole  way  ol 
]ifr»" 


KNE  HOST  aANSENDOHCK.  iSt 

**  It  cannot  be,  dear  Charles ;  it  is  too  late." 

"  And  if  you  were  to  know  assuredly  that  it  would  be  my 
death,  what  then?" 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  hear  it ;  but  I  cannot  force  yon 
to  remain  in  life." 

"  Oh,  Gansendonck  I "  cried  the  youth,  falling  on  his  knees 
and  stretching  out  his  arms,  "give  me  some  hope — do  not, 
do  not  kill  me." 

Mine  host  raised  him,  and  said — "Have  you  lost  your 
senses,  Charles  ?  I  can  do  no  more.  Think  for  a  moment  how 
matters  stand.  To-morrow  we  dine  at  the  hunting-box  with 
the  Baron.     He  gives  a  feast  in  honour  of  Lisa." 

"  She  I  she !  my  Lisa,  at  the  hunting-box  with  the  Baron  ? 
Oh,  you  will  ruin  her  honour  for  ever,  irretrievably.  There 
is  not  a  single  lady  in  his  house." 

"She  is  to  become  acquainted  with  the  hunting-chateau 
of  her  future  husband." 

"  So,  then,  all  hope  has  vanished.  For  her,  dishonour — ^for 
me,  the  grave  1"  cried  the  brewer  in  despair,  while  he  covered 
his  eyes  with  both  hands,  and  a  flood  of  tears  rolled  down  his 
face. 

"  I  pity  you,  Charles,"  said  Baas,  coldly ;  "  Lisa  is  about 
to  become  *  my  lady  l'  It  is  written  above,  and  it  shall  be 
accomplished." 

He  took  the  sorrowing  Charles  gently  by  the  shoulder,  and 
pushed  him  towards  the  door,  saying — 

"  Come,  this  has  lasted  long  enough,  and  no  good  comes  of 
it.     Go  home ;  and  never  speak  with  Lisa  again." 

Charles  let  himself  be  taken  out  without  uttering  a  word, 
and  as  if  all  strength  had  left  his  body.  He  let  his  head  sink 
upon  his  breast,  and  his  tears  fell  upon  the  ground.  Passing 
through  the  room  where  Lisa  sat,  he  paused  for  a  moment  and 
gave  one  last  look — an  eternal  farewell. 


158  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFS. 

The  maiden,  who  for  a  long  time  had  listened  with  interne 
anxiety  to  the  unintelligible  sounds  which  had  proceeded  from 
the  adjoining  room,  was  waiting  with  fearful  anticipation  and 
alarm  till  the  door  should  open. 

Her  betrothed  now  appeared  before  her,  weeping  and  silent, 
like  a  patient  sacrifice  which  was  being  led  to  the  altar.  She 
uttered  a  loud  shriek,  and,  running  to  the  young  man,  threw 
her  arms  round  his  neck,  forcibly  tearing  him  from  the  door. 
Charles  looked  at  her  kindly,  but  with  such  a  strange  and 
troubled  smile,  that  the  expression  of  his  countenance  forced 
from  her  another  cry  of  agony. 

With  threatening  words  Baas  Gansendonck  tore  his  daugh- 
ter's arms  from  Charles's  neck,  and  showing  the  young  mas 
oat  of  the  house,  shut  the  door  behind  him. 


HOST  OAKSBNDOMOB*  lit 


CHAPTEB  VL 

*■  llM  oelf-oonceited  fool  is  a  laughlogHstoek  t«  alL* 

Mine  liost  Gansendonck  ran  up  and  down  bis  room  like  a 
fool;  Bet  the  mirror  down  before  him,  that  be  might  be  able 
to  see  his  legs,  and  went  now  backwards,  now  forwards,  lost 
in  self-admiration.  He  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  bad  a 
new  pair  of  trousers  on,  adorned  with  stripes.  On  a  chair  by 
the  wall  lay  a  pair  of  yellow  gloves,  a  white  waistcoat,  and  a 
shirt  front  with  lace  frills.  Kobe  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  had  a  folded  neckcloth  over  his  arm.  He  looked  at 
Baas  calmly ;  only,  from  time  to  time,  an  almost  inexplicable 
smile  of  mingled  pity  and  restlessness  played  round  his  month. 

"  Now,  Kobe,"  said  mine  host  with  delight,  "  what  do  you 
think  ?    Don't  they  fit  admirably  ?  " 

"I  don't  understand  these  matters,"  said  Kob^,  rather 
annoyed. 

"  Why,  you  can  see  surely  whether  I  look  well  or  ill?" 

"  I  would  rather  see  you  without  straps  to  your  trousers 
than  with  legs  as  stiff  as  broomsticks." 

Gansendonck  heard  this  bold  remark  with  considerable  sur- 
prise ;  and,  looking  fiercely  at  his  servant,  exclaimed — 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  Do  you  begin  to  show  your 
horns  ?  Do  you  think  that  I  pay  and  feed  you  to  say  disagree- 
able things  ?  Come,  let  me  hear.  Do  lliey  fit  me  well  or 
notr 


160  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  UFl. 

"Yes,  Baas." 

"What?  *  Yes,  Baas  I'  "  screamed  Gansendonck,  stamping 
his  feet.     "  I  ask  you  whether  they  fit  me  well  or  not  ?" 

"  They  could  not  fit  you  better,  Baas." 

"  You  are  a  thickhead  I  Do  you  wish  your  reckoning  made 
up,  and  yourself  packed  off  to  seek  another  service  ?  Or  are 
you  not  well  enough  off  here,  you  scoundrel  ?  You  wish  per- 
haps better  bread  than  home-made?  So  it  is  that  a  man 
leaves  clover  for  weeds ;  but  there  is  truth  in  the  proverb, 
when  it  says,  *  Give  an  ass  oats,  and  he  leaves  them  for 
thistles.' " 

Kob6  said  imploringly,  with  a  hypocritical  or  genuine 
anxiety,  it  would  be  hard  to  say  which — 

"  Ah,  Baas  I  I  have  the  colic,  and  don't  know  what  I  say. 
You  must  pardon  me.  Your  trousers  fit  so  admirably,  that 
one  would  think  they  were  painted  on  your  legs." 

"  Oh,  so  you  have  the  colic?"  said  mine  host,  sympathiz- 
ingly.  "  Open  the  little  cupboard  yonder,  and  take  a  little 
wormwood  brandy.  What  is  bitter  in  the  mouth  does  the 
heart  good." 

"  Oh,  Baas ;  you  are  so  good,  Baas  I"  said  Kobe,  going  to 
the  cupboard. 

"  Give  me  my  neckerchief  now ;  but  carefully,  so  as  not  to 
crease  it.'^ 

While  he  proceeded  slowly  with  his  dressing,  he  said,  half 
musingly — 

"  Ah,  Kobe,  how  the  boors  will  gape  when  they  see  me 
pass  with  a  white  waistcoat,  lace  ruffles,  and  yellow  gloves  I 
Heaven  knows,  they  have  never  seen  such  a  thing  in  their 
lives  before.  I  very  slily  asked  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  how 
fine  gentlemen  dressed  when  invited  to  dinner,  and  within  four 
days  I  had  procured  a  supply  of  what  I  wanted.  One  can  do 
more  than  conjure  with  money— one  can  work  miracles  with 


MINE  HOST  GANSENDOMCK.  161 

gold.  And  Lisa,  too,  will  attract  the  people's  eyes  quite  ai 
much,  with  six  flounces  on  her  silk  dress." 

"  Six,  Baas  I  why,  my  lady  at  the  castle  never  wears  mow 
than  five,  even  on  a  Sunday."  ^ 

"  K  Lisa  would  do  what  I  wish,  she  would  wear  ten.  He 
who  has  may  use,  and  he  who  can  pay  may  buy.  You  should 
•ee  her,  were  it  only  for  once,  appear  before  the  peasants  as 
*  my  lady'  ought,  Kobe,  with  a  satin  hat  adorned  with  flowers, 
like  those  that  blossom  at  the  castle  in  winter." 

"Camellias,  Baas?" 

"  Yes,  camellias.  Just  conceive,  Kobe ;  they  had  ornament- 
ed her  hat  with  imitations  of  com  and  buckwheat  I  But  I 
quickly  ordered  the  peasant-emblems  to  be  torn  off.  Give  me 
my  waistcoat ;  but  do  not  let  your  hands  come  too  near  it." 

"  That  is  an  art  I  have  not  learned.  Baas." 

"  Blockhead  I  I  mean,  take  it  up  with  your  handkerchief." 

"Very  well.  Baas." 

"  Tell  me,  Kobe,  do  you  fully  realize  to  yourself  me  sitting 
ftt  the  table  in  the  chateau  ?  Lisa  between  me  and  the  Baron. 
Do  you  hear  what  pretty  compliments  we  pay  to  each  other, 
and  what  fine  things  we  say  ?  And  then  drinking  all  sorts  of 
foreign  wine,  and  eating  game  prepared  with  sauces,  whose 
very  names  the  devil  himself  could  not  remember ;  in  golden 
dishes,  too,  with  silver  spoons  I " 

**  Oh,  Baas,  say  no  more,  if  you  will  be  so  good !  I  feel  «• 
hungry  as  a  dog  with  the  very  thought  of  it  all." 

"  And  you  have  good  reason  too,  Kobe.  But  I  do  not  wish 
to  be  happy  while  others  are  not.  There  is  still  half  a  hare 
which  was  left  yesterday — ^you  can  feast  upon  that ;  and  take 
two  glasses  of  ale  in  addition." 

"  You  are  very  kind.  Baas." 

"  And  in  the  afternoon,  you  may  come  to  the  hunting-box 
to  lee  if  I  have  any  orders  for  you." 


a  TALBf  OF  FLEMISH  UFB. 

"Very  good,  sir." 

"  Tell  me,  Kobd,  is  Lisa  dressed  ?" 

**I  don't  know.  When  I  fetched  fresh  water,  not  loBf 
igo,  she  was  still  sitting  at  the  table." 

**  What  clothes  had  she  on  ?" 

"  Her  ordinary  Sunday  clothes,  I  think." 

"  Did  she  tell  you  that  I  showed  the  brewer  to  the  door 
yesterday?" 

"  I  saw  that  she  was  very  desponding,  Baas.  But  I  never 
inquire  into  matters  which  do  not  concern  me.  He  is  a  fool 
who  burns  his  finger  in  another  man's  pot." 

"  You  are  right  there,  Kobe ;  but  I  am  master,  and  may 
tell  you  all  about  it,  if  it  pleases  me  to  do  so.  Could  you  be- 
lieve it  ?  she  has  still  so  great  a  love  for  that  mad  Charles  as 
to  refase  to  go  to  dine  at  the  hunting-box,  because  she  saw  the 
milksop  shed  tears  as  he  went  out  of  the  house.  I  have  had 
to  talk  with  her  the  whole  night  to  overcome  her  obstinacy." 

"  Has  she  at  last  consented  to  go,  then?" 

"  What  I  she  has  no  right  to  say  yes  or  no  in  the  matter— 
I  am  master  here." 

"  True,  Baas." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  think  ?  she  has  had  the  impudence  to 
■ay  she  will  not  marry  the  Baron." 

"Sol" 

"  Yes ;  and  that  she  will  remain  unmarried  all  her  life,  if 
she  cannot  get  that  awkward  Charles  for  a  husband.  She 
would  look  very  fine  sitting  there  in  the  dirty  brewery,  beside 
the  kitchen  pot,  with  a  spinning-wheel  before  her  I  And  if 
she  wished  to  go  to  town  at  any  time,  she  could  mount  the 
beer-cart,  eh,  Kob^?" 

"  Yes,  Baas." 

"  Come,  give  me  my  gloves,  T  am  ready.  But  now  to  see 
after  Lisa  :  perhaps  she  has  still  some  fancies  that  requiro  to  \m 


Mim  Hoer  gansendonck.  16S 

iriyen  out  of  her.  Yesterday  evening,  at  any  rate,  she  refused 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  six  flounces  which  were  at- 
tached to  her  new  dress.  Like  it  or  not  like  it,  she  shall 
clothe  herself  as  I  think  best." 

Lisa  was  sitting  at  the  window  of  the  front  room.  There 
was  a  sad  and  anxions  expression  on  her  pale  face  ;  she  held 
a  needle  in  one  hand  and  a  piece  of  embroidery  in  the  other, 
but  her  thoughts  evidently  wandered  far  from  her  work,  for 
the  sat  idle  and  motionless. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  cried  mine  host,  with  no  small 
annoyance.  "  Here  am  I,  dressed  from  head  to  foot,  while  you 
sit  there  as  if  nothing  were  going  on  at  all." 

"  I  am  ready,  father,"  replied  Lisa,  in  a  tone  at  once  kind 
and  cold. 

"  There  again ;  *  Father  I'  *  father  I'  Do  you  wiah  me  to 
jump  out  of  my  skin  ?" 

"  I  am  ready,  papa,"  she  repeated. 

"  Stand  np,"  said  Baas  Gansendonck,  with  a  stem  counte- 
nance.    "  What  dress  is  that  you  have  on  ?" 

"  My  Sunday  dress,  papa." 

"  Go  quickly,  and  put  on  your  new  clothes,  and  your  hat 
with  the  flowers." 

Lisa  hung  her  head ;  but  made  no  reply. 

"  How  now,  how  long  is  this  to  last?"  screamed  Gansen- 
donck.    "  Will  you  speak,  or  will  you  not  ?" 

"Ah,  papal"  entreated  Lisa,  "do  not  force  me  to  put  on 
■uch  clothes.  The  dress  and  the  hat  do  not  suit  our  station. 
I  have  not  courage  to  go  through  the  village  with  them.  You 
insist  that  I  should  accompany  you  to  the  chateau,  though  I 
have  begged  on  my  knees  to  be  left  at  home.  Well  then, 
I  consent  to  go,  since  it  must  be  so ;  but,  for  Heaven's  sake 
let  me  go  in  my  usual  Sunday  clothes." 

^  With  a  peasant's  hood  on !  and  vrith  only  on«  flounce  ob 


164  TALES  OF  FLEMIBH  Lin. 

your  dress  I"  said  mine  host  Gansendonck,  contemptnouily. 
"  You  will  look  very  beautiful  with  such  a  dress,  sitting  at  a 
table  with  golden  dishes  and  silver  spoons  1  Come,  come, 
make  no  more  words  about  it.  On  with  your  new  dress  and 
your  hat.     I  will  have  it  so/' 

"  Yon  may  do  what  you  think  proper,  papa  I"  sighed  Lisa, 
hanging  her  head  with  a  look  of  deep  vexation.  "  You  may 
rail  at  me,  punish  me,  but  that  new  dress  I  will  not  put  on — 
that  hat  I  will  not  wear." 

From  the  corner  of  the  fireplace,  Kobe  nodded  his  head 
approvingly.  Mine  host  turned  sharply  to  his  servant,  and 
said  with  fury  in  his  face  and  voice — 

"  How  now,  what  say  you  to  a  daughter  who  dares  to 
speak  so  to  her  father?" 

"  Possibly  she  is  right.  Baas." 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  you  too  ?  Have  you  plotted  together 
to  make  me  burst  with  vexation  ?  I  will  teach  you  manners, 
you  ungrateful  scoundrel  I     To-morrow  you  pack  off." 

"  But,  my  dear  host,  you  don't  understand  me,"  replied 
Kobe  with  an  assumed  fear.  "  I  mean  to  say,  Lisa  might  be 
right — if  she  were  not  wrong." 

"  Ha !  then  be  good  enough  to  speak  more  plainly  another 
time." 

"Yes,  Baas." 

"  And  you,  Lisa,  make  haste  I  Whether  it  pleases  you  or 
not,  you  shall  obey  me,  even  if  I  have  to  dress  you  by  main 
force." 

The  poor  girl  burst  into  tears,  but  this  only  annoyed  her 
father  more — for  he  muttered  passionately  to  himself  and 
knocked  the  chairs  about. 

"  Better  still  1 "  he  cried.  "  Cry  away  there  for  an  hour  oi 
two,  and  then  you  will  be  a  beautiful  object,  with  a  pair  d 
eyM  as  red  as  a  white  rabbit's !    I  will  not  permit  you  to 


mME  HOST  GANSENDONCX.  16< 

■hed  a  tear,  I  tell  you — ^for  it  is  merely  a  trick  to  he  allowed 
to  stay  at  home." 

Lisa  said  nothiug,  but  wept  on. 

"  Come,"  said  Baas  with  impatience,  "  if  it  cannot  be  other- 
wise, dress  yourself  as  you  please  ;  but  stop  crying,  I  beseech 
you.     For  Heaven's  sake,  Lisa,  make  an  end  of  it." 

She  rose  and  went  down  stairs  without  saying  a  word,  to 
prepare  for  the  visit. 

She  had  scarcely  left  the  room  when  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel 
entered,  and  said  to  Gansendonck — 

"  Why  are  you  so  long  of  coming,  Herr  von  Gansendonck? 
I  was  beginning  to  fear  that  something  had  occurred  to  pre- 
vent you.     We  have  been  expecting  you  this  hour." 

"  It  is  Lisa's  fault,"  replied  mine  host ;  "  I  had  ordered  a 
new  dress  and  satin  hat  for  her;  I  don't  know  what  hag 
put  it  into  her  head,  but  she  refuses  to  put  on  any  of  her  new 
clothes." 

"  She  is  quite  right,  my  dear  Herr  von  Gansendonck.  She 
is  pretty  enough  without  them." 

"  Fine  clothes  won't  make  her  look  worse,  my  dear  Herr 
Victor." 

Lisa  returned  and  greeted  the  Baron  with  a  quiet  friendli- 
ness. One  could  read  her  misery  in  her  eyes ;  and  it  could 
easily  be  seen  that  she  had  been  weeping.  She  wore  her 
ordinary  silk  dress,  with  the  simple  border,  and  had  a  clean 
and  very  fine  lace  hood  over  her  head.  She  took  her  father's 
arm,  purposely  to  avoid  walking  with  the  Baron ;  but  mine 
host  took  away  his  arm,  and  kept  at  a  little  distance  from 
her,  as  if  he  would  compel  the  Baron  to  offer  his.  Herr 
Victor  affected  not  to  perceive  it.  Perhaps  he  thought  that 
it  was  unbecoming  for  him,  as  well  as  for  her,  to  go  arm 
in  arm  through  the  village.  After  some  polite  words,  aa 
(o  who  ihould  go  first  out,  they  left  the  house,  mine  hoift 


16$  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LOTU 

making  a  Tiitae  of  necessity  and  giving  his  ann  to  his  dangk* 
ter.     On  the  way,  he  said  sharply — 

"  Do  yon  see  now,  yon  self-willed  girl,  that  if  yon  had  pnt 
on  yonr  beautiful  new  dress  and  fine  hat  with  the  flowers,  the 
Baron  would  have  given  you  his  arm  ?  Now  he  will  not  do 
it ;  yon  are  too  poorly  dressed — that  is  what  comes  of  it  all." 

It  was  necessary  to  pass  the  brewery.  There,  behind  the 
stable-wall,  Lisa  saw  Charles  standing.  With  folded  arms 
and  sunken  head,  he  looked  at  her  sorrowfully,  but  without 
manifesting  either  vexation  or  surprise.  One  could  read  in 
his  countenance  nothing  but  exhaustion,  dejection,  and  calm 
despair.  Lisa  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  and  tearing 
herself  from  her  father,  ran  to  Charles,  and  took  his  hands 
tremblingly  in  hers,  addressing  to  him  a  few  confused  but 
affectionate  and  consolatory  words.  Gansendonck  hastily  ap- 
proachfd  the  two  lovers,  and  looking  fiercely  at  the  brewer, 
dragged  his  daughter  forward. 

Silently  and  ^1  of  melancholy  forebodings,  Lisa  went  U 
tfaa  hxmtiiig-box  of  Heir  von  BroinkasteeL 


HOST  OANBENDOHOl.  147 


CHAPTER  VIL 

**  Pride  i»  the  sonroe  of  aU  eTfl.* 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  Charles  might  be  seen  standing 
among  some  high  copse,  leaning  his  back  on  a  birch-tree. 
There  before  him,  on  the  other  side  of  the  ditch,  lay  the 
hnnting-box  of  Herr  Ton  Bruinkasteel. 

The  young  man  had  stood  long  in  this  solitary  spot ;  he 
did  not  himself  know  how  or  why  he  had  come  there.  As 
he  sauntered  carelessly  through  the  fields,  his  soul  full  of 
horrible  fancies,  his  heart  had  led  him  to  this  place,  where  he 
was  to  drain  a  cup  of  sorrow  more  bitter  than  any  he  had  yet 
tasted.  There  he  stood  now,  like  an  insensible  statue,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  immovably  on  the  Baron's  dwelling ;  and  the 
only  sign  of  life  which  was  visible,  was  from  time  to  time  a 
Bmile  of  despair,  or  a  trembling  of  his  limbs.  His  soul  was 
<m  the  rack,  and  his  self-torturing  imagination  penetrated 
through  the  walls,  on  the  other  side  of  which  he  knew  Lisa 
wafi  sitting.  He  saw  her  by  the  Baron's  side,  and  heard  his 
expressions  of  love  and  his  seductive  flatteries;  he  caught 
him  in  the  act  of  directing  fond  glances  to  his  bride ;  and 
saw  Baas  Gansendonck  frowning  down  his  daughter's  modesty, 
and  then— the  weak  Lisa  knew  no  longer  what  to  do.  She 
let  the  Baron  take  her  hand,  and  did  not  resent  with  in- 
digpciation  those  immodest  glances  of  the  shameless  wanton, 
themselves  sufficient  to  stain  the  purity  of  a  virgin  soul. 

Poor  Charles !  inflicting  a  thousand  wounds  on  hit  heart| 


168  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  UFR. 

and  compelling  his  oyer-excited  fancy  to  revel  in  its  own 
norrible  pictures,  that  he  might  drain  the  cup  of  sorrow  to  th« 
very  dregs  I 

After  he  had  given  himself  up  for  a  long  time  to  these  ter- 
rible thoughts,  he  gradually  became  quite  unconscious  of  out 
ward  objects,  and  fell  into  a  deep  reverie.  The  mental  tension 
from  which  he  had  been  suffering  was  relaxed  ;  his  face  now 
had  only  the  calm  expression  of  weariness,  and,  with  sunken 
head  and  half-shut  eyes,  he  gazed  intently  on  the  ground. — 
Suddenly  the  distant  tones  of  a  harp  struck  his  ear,  accom- 
panied  with  the  almost  inaudible  sound  of  a  man's  voice. 
Unintelligible  as  the  song  was  at  such  a  distance,  it  had  a 
powerful  effect  on  the  young  man's  soul.  Trembling  like  a 
leafj  and  vengeance  depicted  in  every  feature,  he  sprang  up  as 
if  a  snake  had  bitten  him.  His  eyes  shot  fire,  he  ground  hii 
teeth,  and  convulsively  clenched  his  fist.  He  knew  the  ac- 
cursed song ;  that  morning  already  he  had  heard  it  like  a  voice 
from  hell  speaking  to  Lisa  its  wanton  and  shameless  senti- 
ment. Those  debasing  words  which  Lisa  had  sung  with  that 
traitorous  noble,  still  burned  agonizingly  in  his  heart.  In 
his  despair,  the  young  man  broke  the  oak  branches  in  pieces, 
and  muttered  horrible  things.  The  tones  of  the  song  became 
clearer. — "«/«  vous  aimel"  resounded  through  the  oak-trees; 
and  sung  by  the  Baron  with  such  fire,  with  such  earnest  feel- 
ing, that  it  was  impossible  that  it  could  be  directed  to  any 
one  but  Lisa.  Quite  beside  himself  and  scarcely  knowing  what 
he  did,  Charles  ran  through  the  ditch,  and  clambering  up  the 
other  side,  disappeared  among  the  thick  foliage  of  some 
hazel-bushes  which  lined  a  broad  path.  Carefully  concealing 
himself  he  crept  like  a  wild  beast  through  the  bushes  till  he 
had  reached  a  dark  arbour.  There  were  here  two  beech-trees 
at  a  short  distance  from  each  other,  and  their  branches  had 
been  carefully  intertwined,  so  as  to  form  a  deep  shade  over- 


MINE  HOST  GANSENDONCK.  l$f 

head.  Although  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  were  still  falling  on 
one  side  of  the  trees,  and  a  few  leaves  here  and  there  lay  like 
gleaming  points  of  light  among  the  deep  green  of  the  rest, 
this  retreat  was  dark  and  gloomy.  The  young  man  slipped 
across  the  avenue,  and  approached  the  house  and  the  room  in 
which  the  Baron  and  his  guests  were  sitting.  Three  or  four 
paces  from  a  window  of  this  room,  stood  several  large  shrubs, 
whose  blossoms  in  summer  must  have  filled  the  whole  house 
with  their  delicious  odours.  In  this  place  of  concealment 
stood  Charles,  and  saw  from  it  into  the  room  where  the  Baron's 
party  was  assembled. 

How  his  heart  beat  and  his  blood  boiled !  He  could 
observe  everything  and  hear  everything,  for  the  calm  air 
without  and  the  gaiety  within  united  to  render  everything 
audible. — It  appeared  as  if  one  of  the  company  was  forcing 
Lisa  to  do  something  against  her  will.  It  was  the  Baron,  who 
drew  her  with  gentle  force  to  the  piano,  while  her  father  pushed 
her  on  without  any  consideration  for  her  feelings,  at  the  same 
time  saying  half- angrily — "  Lisa  I  Lisa  I  your  obstinacy  will 
make  me  leap  out  of  my  skin  yet.  What  you  have  done  once 
to-day  already,  you  can  surely  do  again.  The  gentlemen  beg 
you  very  kindly  to  sing  that  little  song  once  more,  and  yon 
are  so  disobliging  as  to  refuse.  You  have  no  occasion  to 
hide  your  voice,  girl  1  it  can  afford  to  let  itself  be  heard." 

The  Baron  again  entreated  her ;  the  father  angrily  com- 
manded, and  Lisa  obeyed.  She  began  to  sing  with  the  piano 
accompaniment,  and  along  with  the  Baron— 

"Pltlfi  1  mon  trouble  est  extrtme— 
Ah  1  dites  '  Je  toob  aime !' 
JcTouBaime!" 

—The  branches  of  the  shrubs  moved  restlessly,  as  if  the 
wind  had  stirred  them. — 
Mine  host  Gansendonck  almost  lost  his  senses  with  exult* 


170  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  UFK. 

tion.  His  face  beamed  and  grew  red  with  self-complaoency. 
He  kept  rubbing  his  hands,  and  spoke  so  freely,  boldly,  and  89 
unceasingly,  that  a  stranger  would  have  taken  him  for  the 
owner  of  the  castle.  Standing  beside  the  piano,  he  nodded 
his  head  and  kept  wrong  time  with  hin  heavy  foot,  calling 
out  to  his  daughter  in  the  pauses — 

"Louder — quicker  I     Ah  I  that  is  good.     Bravo!" 

Adolph  and  his  companions,  and  even  Victor  himself  made 
fiin  of  him,  but  he  did  not  perceive  it.  He  considered  their 
loud  laughter,  on  the  contrary,  a  sign  of  good  feeling  and  friend- 
liness on  their  part.  Scarcely  was  the  song  finished  when 
Adolph  ran  his  fingers  over  the  notes,  and  then  began  a  quick 
waltz ;  and  of  so  alluring  a  kind,  that  mine  host,  as  soon  as  he 
heard  it,  felt  a  great  desire  to  dance,  and,  in  fact,  had  erected 
himself  on  his  tiptoes,  as  if  he  meant  to  hop  round  the  room. 

"  A  dance  I  a  dance  I"  he  cried.  "  Our  Lisa  is  a  capital 
dancer.  One  would  think  she  was  actually  gliding  along  the 
moment  she  raises  her  feet." 

The  poor  girl,  who  had  already  been  compelled  to  sing 
much  against  her  will,  began  to  move  as  far  from  the  piano 
as  possible,  that  she  might  escape  her  father's  order  this  time. 
But  he  led  her  back  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  gave 
the  Baron  an  inviting  nod. 

Briskly  and  joyfriUy  he  sprang  forward,  and  throwing  his 
arms  round  the  girl,  forcibly  whirled  her  along  five  or  six  steps. 

— ^From  among  the  shrubs,  there  issued  a.deep  groan,  pain- 
ful and  horrible,  like  the  last  sigh  of  a  dying  lion  ;  within,  all 
were  too  much  occupied  to  pay  any  attention  to  this  voice  of 
anger  and  sorrow. — 

As  Lisa  resolutely  refused  to  dance,  and  let  herself  be 
dragged  along  without  making  any  effort  herself,  Herr  Victor 
had  to  give  it  up.  He  begged  pardon  of  the  blushing  girl 
with  a  profusion  of  fine  phrases,  and  neither  her  visible  annoj- 


MZHB  HOST  GANBEin>ONCK.  171 

nor  her  refusal  seemed  to  make  any  impression  npon 
him.  The  light-headed  young  man  seemed  to  be  merely 
amusing  himself ;  to  all  appearance  he  saw  in  Lisa  nothing 
but  a  pretty  innocent  young  girl,  with  whom  he  could  plea- 
santly pass  the  time.  Had  a  deeper  feeling  attracted  him 
towards  her,  one  would  have  expected  to  see  him  hurt  or 
annoyed  by  her  coldness ;  but  he  seemed  not  to  heed  it  in  the 
least.  With  a  slight  bow,  he  offered  Lisa  his  arm,  which 
she  dared  not  refuse,  and  then  said  to  the  others — "  Come,  let 
Ufl  have  a  walk  in  the  garden  till  the  lights  are  brought  in  I 
Do  not  take  it  ill,  friends,  that  I  act  the  cavalier  to  Miss  Lisa." 

All  left  the  room  and  the  house,  and  betook  themselves  to  the 
shadiest  parts  of  the  garden.  Many  ways  presented  themselves 
to  them.  The  Baron  led  Lisa  towards  a  bed  of  dahlias,  while 
Adolph  and  his  companions  immediately  struck  into  another 
path.  With  terror  and  anxiety,  the  young  girl  saw  her  father 
likewise  taking  a  different  road.  She  threw  an  imploring  look 
towards  him,  and  would  have  left  the  Baron ;  but  Baas  Gan- 
Bendonck  ordered  her,  with  assumed  anger,  to  follow  her  com- 
panion, and  then  ran  laughing  to  Adolph,  as  if  he  had  done 
Bomething  very  fine.  Lisa  trembled ;  her  maiden  conscience 
told  her  she  was  doing  wrong  in  walking  alone  through  solitary 
paths  arm  in  arm  with  the  Baron.  Meanwhile,  he  said  nothing 
unbecoming,  and  at  the  other  end  of  the  path  she  met  her 
fother  again.  Would  it  not  be  a  coarse  and  awkward  thing 
to  let  the  Baron  stand,  and  run  away  from  him  like  an  ill-bred 
peasant  girl?  With  these  thoughts,  she  accompanied  the 
young  man  without  resistance — giving  him,  however,  nothing 
but  monosyllabic  and  confused  replies.  Immediately  after, 
they  all  disappeared  down  a  deeply-shaded  and  winding  path. 

The  unhappy  Charles  was  in  a  fever  of  excitement,  and 
Buffered  inexpressible  torture.  More  than  twenty  times  al- 
iMidy  had  the  revenge  which  burned  so  fiercely  m  hii  Ipoeon 


TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

urgeii  him  to  spring  out  of  his  hiding-place  and  strike  down  tlit 
seducer ;  but  then  the  image  of  his  mother  on  her  knees  j  re- 
sented itself  to  him.  And  thus  driven  hither  and  thither — on 
the  one  hand  by  his  rising  revenge,  and  on  the  other  by  the  warn- 
ing feeling  of  filial  love — rage,  grief,  despair,  and  duty  roused 
a  tempest  of  tumultuous  feeling  in  his  soul.  Such  a  madness, 
indeed,  had  taken  possession  of  him,  that  his  very  breath  felt 
like  a  glowing  flame  upon  his  face.  Suddenly  he  heard,  only 
a  few  paces  from  him,  the  Baron's  insinuating  voice,  and  saw 
Lisa  walking  with  hold  of  his  arm  with  a  calm  and  melan- 
choly countenance.  Both  struck  into  the  path  that  led  to- 
wards the  shrubbery,  and  then  passed  down  the  dark  avenue. 

When  only  a  few  paces  from  the  spot  where  Charles  stood 
watching  their  movements  with  repressed  breath  and  intense 
anxiety,  Lisa  perceived  the  gloomy  solitude  which  they  were  ap- 
proaching. She  requested  the  Baron  to  take  her  back  to  her 
father ;  but  he  only  held  her  all  the  more  tightly  by  the  arm, 
and  laughed  at  her  fear  to  go  with  him  through  the  avenue. 
When  she  felt  that  he  insisted  on  her  accompanying  him,  she 
trembled  like  a  leaf,  and  grew  pale  with  alarm.  The  noble- 
man, however,  paid  no  attention  to  it ;  perhaps  he  believed  it 
was  only  affectation,  and  even  began  to  drag  her  towards  the 
avenue  with  a  mixture  of  jest  and  force,  and  partly  succeeded 
in  his  object. 

"  Father  I  father  1 "  cried  Lisa  quickly  with  a  piercing  cry  oi 
alarm.  More  quickly  still,  she  uttered  another  and  more 
terrible  cry ;  for  before  she  could  say  a  word,  two  powerful 
hands  were  laid  on  the  Baron's  shoulder,  and  he  was  hurled 
to  the  ground. 

Kaging,  the  Baron  rose,  tore  a  dahlia- pole  from  the  ground, 
and  rushed  upon  Charles,  who  stood  waiting  his  attack,  his 
brea«t  heaving  with  revenge  and  fury.  The  Baron  succeeded 
in  striking  Charles  such  a  blow  upon  the  head,  that  the  blood 


MINB  HOST  OANSENDONCK.  178 

fao  down  liis  face;  and  this  was  tbe  signal  for  a  violent 
straggle.  Charles  seized  his  enemy  by  the  legs,  lifted  him 
into  the  air,  and  threw  him  to  the  ground  like  a  stone.  Not- 
withstanding this,  the  Baron  offered  a  stout  resistance  to  the 
young  man,  till  the  latter,  lifting  him  in  his  arms,  threw  him 
ft  third  time  on  the  ground,  and  planting  his  knee  on  his 
breast,  beat  him  violently  about  the  face. 

Lisa  had  stood  for  a  moment  screaming,  till  she  saw  the 
first  drops  of  blood  ;  she  had  then  taken  flight,  and  had  fallen 
to  the  ground  in  a  swoon  a  short  distance  off.  Her  cries  for 
help,  however,  had  fortunately  been  heard  by  the  guests, 
and  even  by  the  servants,  and  had  filled  them  with  alarm. 
They  all  now  arrived  on  the  scene  of  combat  ixom  various 
directions,  and  tore  the  young  man  from  the  Baron's  body. 
Adolph  ordered  the  servants  to  arrest  him,  and  five  or  six  of 
them  went  up  to  him  and  took  him  by  the  arm,  while  he 
looked  at  his  enemy  whom  he  had  handled  so  severely  with  a 
wild  confused  expression,  and  a  half-unconscious  smile. 

Gansendonck,  now  tearing  his  hair  wildly,  thinking  that  hia 
daughter  had  been  murdered,  hastened  towards  her. 

Adolph  and  his  friend  assisted  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  to 
rise.  He  was  sadly  disfigured  in  face  and  person ;  still  he 
had  strength  enough  left  to  express  his  indignation  passion- 
ately, when  he  saw  the  brewer  standing  before  him. 

"  Villain ! "  he  cried,  "  I  could  have  you  beat  to  death  by 
my  servants ;  but  the  scaffold  will  avenge  me  on  my  assassin. 
Lock  him  up  in  the  cellar;  and  you,  Stephen,  run  for  the 
gendarmes  I" 

The  servants  were  about  to  drag  the  young  man  along,  m 
order  to  execute  their  master's  order ;  but  so  soon  as  he  per- 
ceived their  intention,  he  tore  himself  loose  from  them,  knocked 
down  one  who  tried  to  intercept  his  progress,  and  dashing 
through  the  water,  vanished  round  a  corner  of  the  fir-wood. 


If  4  TALKS  OF  FLEMISH  LOHk 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

«•  Smooth  water  ruiu  deepu" 

Oh  the  morning  of  tlie  following  day,  Lisa  Gansendonc« 
■at  behind  the  window-curtain  in  a  side-room  of  the  St.  Se- 
bastian. The  excessive  paleness  of  her  face,  and  the  flush 
upon  her  cheeks,  showed  that  she  was  exhausted  with  weep- 
ing. 

Wearied  though  Lisa  was  with  anxiety  and  grie^  her 
features  yet  indicated  a  restless  excitement  of  mind,  and  her 
convulsive  movements  betrayed  the  secret  tumult  of  her  soul. 
It  was  as  if  some  overpowering  terror  or  agonizing  expecta- 
tion oppressed  her  heart,  for  now  and  then  she  looked  anxiously 
through  the  window,  and  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  road  with 
visible  fear,  till  some  passer-by  stood  still  and  looked  up  at  the 
house.  Then  although  she  could  not  be  seen  from  without, 
she  instinctively  drew  back  her  head,  and  a  deep  blush  over- 
spread her  face.  She  looked  down  ashamed,  as  if  she  would 
fain  flee  from  the  accusing  glances  of  the  people ;  and  then  sat 
for  a  long  time  in  the  deepest  silence,  only  again  to  approach 
the  window  and  look  into  the  street  with  a  painful  curiosity. 

What  was  she  expecting  ?  She  herself  did  not  know ;  but 
her  conscience  gnawed  like  a  worm  at  her  heart.  Charles's 
form  hovered  continually  before  her,  and  called  loudly  out  to 
her  that  she  was  the  guilty  cause  of  all  the  agony  which  hif 
too  fbcd  heart  had  endured.    Her  excited  and  texrifiod  ii 


KIKE  HOtT  OAMSKNDOKCK.  17S 

gination  seemed  to  hear  all  that  the  villagers  said  abont  her ; 
aod  now,  for  the  first  time,  she  saw  clearly  that  her  reputation 
was  gone,  and  that  Charles  would  with  good  reason  cast  her 
from  him  for  ever.  Therefore  it  was  that  she  trembled  and 
blushed  before  the  looks  of  the  passers-by ;  for  she  saw  in 
their  faces  that  they  spoke  of  the  event  of  yesterday,  and  that 
mockery,  contempt,  and  anger  accompanied  their  remarks. 
Yes,  she  had  even  seen  some  peasants  shake  their  fists 
threateningly  at  the  house,  as  if  they  had  sworn  to  take  re- 
venge for  the  disgrace  which  had  been  cast  on  the  whole 
village  by  Gansendonck's  daughter. 

While  Lisa  sat  in  the  side-room,  drinking  deep  draughts  of 
the  cup  of  shame  and  remorse,  Kobe  crouched  quietly  and 
alone  by  the  inn  hearth.  He  held  his  pipe  in  his  hand,  but 
did  not  smoke.  He  appeared  to  be  full  of  anxiety,  and  lost 
in  deep  reflection,  and  a  very  unusual  expression  was  depicted 
on  his  face.  One  could  read  in  it  condemnation,  sternness, 
and  even  indignation;  his  lips  moved  as  if  speaking,  and 
his  eyes  sparkled  with  vexation  and  anger. 

Suddenly  he  thought  he  heard  Baas  Gansendonck's  voice. 
A  smile  of  compassion  played  round  his  mouth  for  a  moment, 
but  as  quickly  disappeared,  and  gave  place  to  his  former 
anxious  and  troubled  look. 

So  soon  as  mine  host  approached  the  back  door  of  the  house, 
Kob^  heard  him  blustering  and  railing  at  some  people  who 
had  evidently  been  abusing  him,  but  could  not  make  out  who 
or  what  had  put  him  in  such  a  fury ;  and  indeed  it  seemed 
all  one  to  Kobe,  for  without  disturbing  himself,  he  sat  by 
the  hearth  comer,  calmly  awaiting  his  master's  entrance. 
In  less  than  a  minute  mine  host  came  tumbling  rather  than 
walking  into  the  house,  stamping  his  feet  like  a  maniac,  and 
striking  the  chairs  right  and  left  with  his  stafi^  as  if  they 
had  insnlted  hixn. 


17i  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LXFB. 

"  This  is  going  too  far  I  yes,  too  far  indeed  I "  he  exclaimecL 
"  What  I  a  man  like  me  1  What  I  they  will  dare  even  to 
shake  their  fists  at  me  in  the  open  street  I  Call  after  me  I 
insult  me  I  dare  even  to  reproach  me  I — call  me  villain  I  ass ! 
Think  of  that,  Kobe  I  Must  they  not  be  possessed  by  the 
devil  ?  The  shameless  boors  actually  ran  after  me  out  of  the 
smithy,  shouting,  *A  scandal!  a  scandal!'  Had  I  not  re- 
strained myself,  just  because  I  did  not  wish  to  defile  my  hands 
on  the  rabble,  I  would  have  broken  two  or  three  of  their 
heads.  But  Sus  shall  pay  for  all  these  lubberly  scoundreli 
at  once.  I  HI  teach  him  to  throw  mud  at  Baas  Gansendonck  I 
We  shall  see  if  I  can't  make  him  laugh  on  the  wrong  side  of 
his  mouth ;  if  it  were  to  cost  half  my  wealth,  I'll  make  him 
pay  terribly  for  this.  I  shall  call  in  the  gendarmes ;  and  if 
any  one  ventures  even  to  make  a  face  at  me,  I  shall  summon 
the  whole  village  to  court.  I  have  money  enough  to  manage 
that,  thank  Heaven ;  and  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel,  who  is  a 
friend  of  the  Attorney-general,  will  know  how  to  give  them  a 
few  weeks  in  the  lock-up.  Then,  perhaps,  they  will  learn 
manners,  and  find  out  whom  they  have  to  deal  with,  the 
clowns!  This  thing  must  have  an  end.  Since  they  have 
insulted  me  so  barefacedly,  I  will  have  no  more  pity,  but  let 
them  feel  what  Baas  Gansendonck  can  do.  Now  that  this  has 
once  occurred,  there's  an  end  to  everything  like  mercy  I" 

The  raging  Baas  would  apparently  have  raved  on  for  a 
long  time  in  this  abusive  style,  had  not  breath  failed  him. 
Panting  with  his  exertion,  he  threw  himself  on  a  chair,  and 
looked  with  surprise  and  irritation  at  the  indifierent  way  in 
which  Kobe  looked  into  the  fire,  as  if  he  had  heard  nothing, 
his  face  expressive  only  of  annoyance. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  sitting  idly  and  stupidly  there," 
cried  Baas,  "like  one  who  could  not  count  three  ?  An  idle  life  ii 
the  ruin  of  yon,  Kobe  I    I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  you  art 


MUTE  HOST  GANSENDONCIU  177 

growing  as  lazy  and  stnpid  as  a  pig.  Now,  this  is  not  agree- 
able to  me.  My  servant  must  have  some  spirit  in  him,  and 
not  remain  as  cold  as  ice  when  I  am  angry  I" 

Kob^  looked  at  his  master  with  an  expression  of  sadnesi 
and  pity. 

"Ah,  you  have  the  colic  again,  have  you?"  cried  Gansen- 
donck.  "  It  pains  me  very  deeply  to  hear  it.  Do  you  think 
the  St.  Sebastian  is  an  hospital?  You  shall  not  have  the 
colic,  I  tell  you  ;  you  must  eat  less,  you  glutton  I  How  now, 
do  you  mean  to  speak  or  not  ?" 

"  I  would  speak  with  pleasure,"  replied  Kobe,  "  if  I  did  not 
know  that,  at  the  very  first  word,  you  would  make  me  shut  my 
mouth,  and  then  break  out  as  usual  and  sing  a  long  litany." 

"  Ha  I  what  way  of  talking  is  this  ?  You  had  better  say 
at  once  that  I  am  a  babbler  j  do  not  beat  about  the  bush ; 
everybody  must  now  have  a  hit  at  Baas  Gansendonck's  back, 
it  seems.  You  had  better  take  up  a  stone  and  throw  it  at  him 
who  feeds  you." 

"  There,  you  see  I "  said  Kobe,  with  a  smile  of  annoyance ; 
**  I  have  said  only  six  words,  and  already  you  have  mounted 
your  high  horse.  I  will  avoid  saying  any  harm  of  you.  Baas ; 
but  you  must  grant  that  it  would  be  an  active  spider  that  could 
epin  a  web  across  your  mouth." 

"  I  am  master  here,  and  may  have  all  the  talk  to  myself  if 
I  please." 

**  Indeed,  Baas  I  then  let  me  be  silent,  were  it  to  choke  me." 

"  Silent  I  no,  that  I  will  not.  You  shall  speak.  I  am 
cnrious  to  see  what  good  can  possibly  come  out  of  such  a 
blockhead." 

"  Smooth  water  runs  deep.  Baas." 

"  How  now — explain  ;  but  do  not  speak  too  long ;  and  bear 
in  mind  especially  that  I  do  not  pay  my  servant  to  be  in- 
ftnioted  by  him/' 


TALES  OP  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

••There  is  a  proverb,  Baas,  which  says,  *The  wise  man 
goes  to  take  counsel  of  the  fool,  and  finds  truth  there,* " 

"  Now,  then,  let  me  hear  what  advice  the  fool  can  give  to 
the  wise  man.  If  you  will  speak  rationally,  I  will  perhaps 
listen  to  you  a  little.'* 

The  servant  turned  his  chair  in  front  cf  his  master,  and 
■aid,  with  a  free  and  bold  bearing — 

"Baas,  during  these  two  months,  things  have  happened 
here  which  even  a  stupid  servant  cannot  see  without  feeling 
his  blood  boil." 

"I  believe  you;  but  it  shall  not  last  long,  Kob^;  the 
gendarmes  are  not  paid  to  catch  flies." 

"  As  for  me.  Baas,  I  am  a  good-for-nothing  idler,  I  confess ; 
but  my  heart  is  good.  I  would  do  much  to  rescue  our  brave 
little  Lisa  out  of  misfortune,  if  I  had  the  power ;  and  I  do 
not  forget.  Baas,  that  you,  with  all  your  pride,  have  been  kind 
to  me." 

"  That  is  true,  Kobe,"  said  Baas,  a  little  moved.  "  I  am 
glad  to  hear  that  you  are  grateful  to  me.  But  what  is  the 
particular  object  of  all  this  seriousness?" 

"  Do  not  put  the  cart  before  the  horse.  Baas.  I  shall  draw 
the  painful  thread  soon  enough." 

"  Make  it  short,  or  I  shall  run  out  of  the  house." 

"  Now,  then,  if  you  will  but  listen  to  me  for  a  moment : 
Lisa  has  been  long  betrothed  to  Charles,  who  is  a  good  young 
man,  spite  of  this  imprudent  act." 

"A  good  young  man!"  screamed  Baas;  "how  can  you 
call  him  a  good  young  man,  who,  like  an  assassin,  attacked 
Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  in  his  own  house  ?" 

"  The  best  horse  will  make  a  false  step." 

"  So  I  you  call  that  making  a  false  step,  do  you  ?  He  is 
a  good  young  man,  is  he  ?  That  word  will  cost  you  dear. 
There  ii  an  end  to  your  living  here  ;  this  very  day  pa,qk  ofL** 


mNB  HOST  OANSENDONCK.  17f 

**  As  yon  please,  Baas ;  my  things  are  already  packed,"  re- 
plied Kobe  drily.  "  But  before  I  go,  you  must  hear  what  lies 
on  my  heart ;  you  must  hear  it,  were  I  to  chase  you  into  the 
fields,  or  the  street,  or  even  into  your  own  bedroom.  It  is  my 
duty,  and  the  only  thanks  I  can  give  you  for  your  kindness. 
Your  expelling  me  from  the  house  does  not  surprise  me  in  the 
least ;  truth  finds  harbour  nowhere." 

Mine  host  beat  his  feet  impatiently  on  the  ground  ;  but  he 
said  nothing,  for  the  earnest  and  self-possessed  tone  of  his  ser- 
vant surprised  and  overpowered  him. 

"  Our  Lisa,"  continued  Kobe,  "  would  have  been  happy 
with  Charles ;  but  you.  Baas,  have  brought  the  fox  to  your 
own  geese — invited  a  frivolous  young  man  into  your  house, 
and  encouraged  him  to  utter  his  pernicious  sentiments  in  your 
daughter's  ears,  to  talk  to  her  of  a  feigned  passion,  and  sing 
love-songs  which  run  right  in  the  face  of  all  that  is  delicate 
and  honourable." 

**  It  is  false,"  muttered  Baas. 

"  It  has  been  your  wish  that  he  should  speak  French  with 
your  daughter ;  and  could  you  know  what  he  said  without  un- 
derstanding a  word  of  the  language?" 

"  And  you,  you  thick-skulled  booby,  do  you  understand  it  so 
marvellously  well  as  to  dare  to  give  your  opinion  so  impu- 
dently?" 

"  I  understood  enough  to  perceive  that  the  devils  of  wan- 
tonness and  mockery  were  both  at  work.  What  has  been  the 
result  of  all  your  imprudence  ?  The  honour  of  your  daughter 
stained — if  not  in  fact,  at  least  in  the  thoughts  of  the  people 
— ^to  such  an  extent  that  she  can  never  again  entirely  regain 
her  character.  Charles,  the  only  man  who  honestly  loved 
her,  and  could  have  made  her  happy,  dies  of  grief  and  despair ; 
and  his  poor  old  mother  is  laid  on  a  bed  of  sickness  through 
sorrow  for  the  sufiferings  of  her  only  son.  And  you,  Baas,  jcm 


180  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LEVI. 

are  detested  and  despised  by  everybody ;  all  say  that  yon  art 
the  guilty  cause  of  Charles's  death,  your  daughter's  shamei, 
and  your  own  misfortune." 

"  Yes,  when  one  wishes  the  dog  dead,  it  is  easy  to  get  up 
the  cry  that  he  is  mad ;  but  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  the 
matter?"  screamed  Baas  in  his  fury.  "  It  has  nothing  to  do 
with  it ;  I  shall  do  what  I  please.  And  you,  you  shameless 
scoundrel  I  will  get  what  you  deserve  for  putting  your  nose 
into  a  business  that  does  not  concern  you." 

"  It  matters  little  to  me  whether  my  words  please  you  or 
not ;  they  are  the  last  which  I  shall  speak  in  the  St.  Sebas- 
tian." 

Baas  Gansendonck,  spite  of  his  threats,  was  evidently  ex- 
cessively fond  of  his  servant,  and  was  very  unwilling  that  he 
should  leave  him  ;  for  the  moment  the  latter  had  announced 
his  intention  to  leave  his  service,  mine  host's  anger  was  sud- 
denly allayed,  and  he  listened  to  him  without  interruption, 

Kobe  therefore  continued — 

"  What  is  to  come  of  all  this?  Is  one  to  say  with  the  pro- 
verb, *  The  pitcher  goes  long  to  the  well,  but  is  broken  at 
last'  ?  No ;  your  daughter's  chastity  will  protect  her  from 
any  deeper  shame.  The  Baron  will  grow  weary  of  Lisa's 
society,  and  seek  other  pastime ;  Lisa  will  remain  where  she 
is,  avoided  in  future  by  every  right-thinking  person ;  you  will 
be  the  people's  butt ;  and  all  will  rejoice  at  your  disappoint- 
ment and  confusion," 

"  But,  Kobe,  who  can  please  everybody  ?  He  who  builds 
in  the  street  has  many  critics.  I  do  not  understand  your  stu- 
pidity ;  or  do  yon  not  know  how  matters  actually  stand  ?  The 
Baron  means  to  marry  Lisa  ;  there  is  not  the  slightest  doubt 
about  that — a  child  might  see  it ;  and  then  shall  all  the  ill 
tongues  in  the  village,  and  you  with  them,  stand  gaping,  their 
•yet  wide  open,  like  a  heap  of  owls  in  the  funshine.    Yei| 


MINE  HOST  OANSENDONCi:.  181 

were  I  not  gore  of  that,  the  people  might  have  some  reajson  oc 
their  side ;  though,  in  any  case,  they  need  not  trouble  their 
heads  about  it,  for  I  am  master  in  my  own  house." 

"  So  I  the  Baron  will  marry  Lisa,  will  he  ?  That  would 
be  all  very  well,  and  you  would  have  a  fine  feather  in  your 
cap.  Baas.  But  tviU  and  ought  are  different  words.  Will  you 
let  me  ask  you  a  question  ?" 

"Well?" 

"  Has  the  Baron  spoken  to  you  of  marriage  yet  ?" 

"  That  is  not  necessary." 

"  Indeed !  Then  have  you  inquired  what  his  intentioiii 
are?" 

"  That  is  not  necessary  either." 

"  Has  the  Baron  spoken  to  Lisa  of  marriage  ?" 

"  What  a  childish  question,  Kobe  I  He  would  require  to 
ask  Lisa  for  her  consent,  forsooth,  when  he  knows  that  I  alone 
am  master  here,  and  that  it  is  I  who  must  determine ;  that 
would  never  do." 

"  No  I  But  perhaps  you  are  not  aware  that  the  Baron 
laughed  at  you  and  your  daughter,  when  the  doctor  asked 
him  in  the  churchyard,  in  the  presence  of  more  than  ten 
people,  whether  he  intended  to  marry  Lisa  ?  " 

**  What  is  that  you  say — Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  laughed  at 
me?" 

**  He  asked  the  doctor  whether  he  could  believe  that  he,  a 
Baron,  would  marry  a  girl  out  of  a  country  tavern ;  and  when 
some  one  said  that  you  had  already  spoken  with  the  notary 
about  the  marriage-contract,  he  exclaimed,  *  The  daughter  is 
a  fine  girl ;  but  the  father  is  a  completely-developed  fool,  and 
should  have  been  in  bedlam  long  ago.'  " 

The  moment  Kob^  said  this.  Baas  sprang  up  from  hia  seat 
as  if  some  one  had  suddenly  trod  on  his  toes. 

"What  do  yon  say  there?"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  threaten* 


182  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

ing  mien.  "/  should  have  been  in  bedlam?  Wtat  baa 
come  over  yon  ?  Have  you  lost  your  senses  entirely  ?  It  if 
true,  after  all,  *  A  mad  dog  bites  even  bis  own  master.'  " 

"  I  am  only  repeating  to  you  what  ten  men  beard  as  well 
as  myself.  Believe  it  or  not,  as  you  please.  Baas.  What  is 
the  use  of  " — 

"  Yes,  say  it  all  out.  What  is  the  use  of  spectacles,  if  the 
owl  will  not  see  ?  I  can't  understand  why  I  do  not  pitch  yoB 
out  of  doors." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  the  light  to  him  who  keeps  his  eyes 
fast  shut?"  continued  Kob^.  "  The  Baron  made  some  other 
observations  on  your  character,  beside  that." 

"  No,  no  ;  it  is  not  true,  cannot  be  true.  You  believe  like 
a  simpleton  all  the  slanders  which  people  retail,  who  are  burst- 
ing with  envy  because  I  have  more  money  than  they,  and  be- 
cause they  foresee  that  Lisa  will  be  a  fine  lady,  to  the  vexa- 
tion of  every  one  who  grudges  her  the  good  fortune." 

"  When  the  blind  man  dreams  that  he  sees,  he  sees  only 
what  he  wishes  to  see,"  sighed  Kobe.  "For  your  wound 
there  is  no  salve,  Baas ;  therefore  I  cannot  help  you ;  and 
80  I  say  with  the  proverb,  *  As  you  brew,  you  must  bake. 
Act  as  it  pleases  you,  and  marry  your  daughter  to-morrow." 

"  Everything  you  have  told  me  is  only  the  invention  of  en- 
vious people,  and  nothing  more." 

"  The  doctor  does  not  envy  you,  Baas ;  he  is  a  quiet,  pru- 
dent man — perhaps  the  only  one  in  the  village  now  who  con- 
tinues friendly  to  you  He  himself  urged  me  to  open  your 
eyes,  even  against  your  will,  to  the  danger  to  which  you  were 
exposing  yourself." 

"  But  the  doctor  has  been  deceived  too,  Kobe  ;  they  have 
told  him  lies  of  all  sorts.  It  can't  be  otherwise,  I  tell  you. 
It  would  be  a  fine  story,  to  be  sure,  if  the  Baron  were  not  ia 
manyLisal" 


MINE  HOST  GANSENDONCK*  ItS 

•*  Yon  can't  be  sure  of  your  chickens  till  the  eggs  are  liaid. 
Baas." 

"  I  am  as  certain  of  being  right  as  I  am  of  knowing  my 
father's  name." 

"  You  are  riding  the  horse  before  you  are  in  the  saddle.  I 
tell  you,  Baas,  the  Baron  makes  sport  of  you,  and  laughs  at 
you,  and  accounts  you  a  blockhead  at  best.  I  tell  you,  you 
are  blind  I  I  pity  you  and  Lisa  from  my  heart.  I  leave  this 
early  to-morrow  morning,  that  I  may  not  see  the  end  of  the 
melancholy  story ;  and  if  you  would  but  open  your  ears.  Baas, 
I  would  give  you  a  parting  advice  as  my  farewell — very  valu- 
able advice." 

"As  your  farewell?  We  shall  see  about  that.  Let  me 
hear  your  precious  counsel  in  the  meantime." 

"Why,  you  see.  Baas,  the  credulous  are  easily  betrayed. 
Were  I  in  your  place,  I  should  know  this  very  day  precisely 
how  I  stood.  I  should  go  straight  to  the  hunting-box,  see 
Herr  von  Bruinkasteel,  and  ask  him  what  his  intentions  are 
with  regard  to  Lisa.  Fine  words  and  evasive  phrases  should 
have  no  effect  upon  me.  I  should  meet  everything  with  the 
plain,  decisive  question — *  Do  you  mean  to  marry  her  or  not?' 
I  should  compel  him  to  deal  openly  with  me,  and  give  once 
for  all  a  clear  and  decisive  answer.  If  he  refused,  which  ia 
very  probable,  I  should  then  forbid  him  ever  to  address  an- 
other word  to  Lisa ;  on  the  contrary,  I  should  bring  things 
back  into  the  old  track — clear  myself  with  Charles,  call  him 
back  and  hasten  his  marriage  with  Lisa.  That  is  the  only 
way  left  you  of  warding  off  great  suffering  and  great  shame." 

"  Well,  then,  if  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  does  not  speak  with 
me  soon  about  the  marriage,  I  shall  be  bold  enough  to  ques- 
tion him  ;  but  there  is  no  haste." 

"  No  haste  I  From  hand  to  mouth  is  hazardous  work.  Thii 
▼isry  day  you  ought  to  know  what  the  Baron's  intentions  are." 


184  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LiFB. 

"  Well,  well,"  cried  Baas,  "  this  very  afternoon  I  shall  go 
to  the  hunting-box,  and  demand  from  the  Baron  a  final  ex- 
planation. But  I  know  quite  well  already  what  his  answer 
will  be." 

"  I  wish  you  spoke  the  truth,  Baas ;  but  I  fear  you  baked 
dough  in  your  New-year's  cake." 

"  What  I  that  I  spoke  the  truth?" 

"  Yes,  if  it  were  only  for  this  once." 

"  The  world  has  turned  upside  down,"  sighed  Baas,  with 
no  little  irritation ;  "  the  servant  treats  his  master  as  a  fool, 
and  I  must  swallow  it  too  I  Play  with  the  ass  and  he  flings 
his  tail  in  your  face.  But  wait  a  little,  my  revenge  is  at 
hand.  This  very  afternoon  I  shall  go  to  the  hunting-box. 
And  what  will  you  say,  you  impudent  scoundrel,  when  I  bring 
back  the  reply  that  the  Baron  means  to  marry  Lisa?" 

"  That  you  alone  have  sense.  Baas,  and  that  every  other 
person,  myself  not  excepted,  is  an  empty  blockhead.  But 
what  will  you  say.  Baas,  if  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  laughs  at 
you?" 

"  It  is  impossible,  I  tell  you." 

"  But  if  it  should  be  so,  what  then?" 

"i)^  if!  If  the  sky  should  fall,  we  should  all  be  dead 
men." 

"  I  repeat  my  question,  Baas.  If  the  Baron  laughs  at  you, 
what  then?" 

"  Ha  1  Baron  or  not  Baron,  I  shall  show  him  who  I  am, 
and  '— 

A  loud  and  terrible  scream  of  agony  made  the  word  die  on 
his  tongue.  Both  sprang  up,  alarmed  and  anxious,  and  has- 
tened to  the  room  in  which  Lisa  was. 

The  maiden  stood  at  the  window,  and  looked  into  the  street. 
She  must  have  seen  something  fearful,  for  her  lips  were  con- 
Talied,  and  her  teeth  were  pressed  convulsively  together.  Her 


IDNE  HOST  OANSENIK>NCK,  185 

fltralned  eyes  seemed  as  if  they  would  leap  ont  of  her  head, 
and  she  trembled  in  every  limb.  Baas  Gansendonck  had 
Bcarcely  entered  the  room,  when  a  cry  of  agony  more  pierc- 
ing than  the  first  resounded  through  it ;  and  Lisa,  throwing 
up  her  arms,  fell  back  lifeless  on  the  floor.  Baas  knelt  down 
beside  her,  crying  for  help. 

Kobe  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  He,  too,  grew 
pale  and  trembled ;  tears  burst  from  his  eyes ;  and  he  was  so 
overwhelmed  by  what  he  saw,  that  he  did  not  hear  his  mas- 
ter's call  for  assistance :  for,  going  along  the  road  which  led 
to  the  city,  Charles  might  be  seen  between  two  gendarmes, 
with  his  hands  bound  at  his  back.  An  old  woman  tottered 
weeping  behind  him,  and  dropped  her  burning  tears  in  the 
footsteps  of  her  unhappy  son.  Sus,  the  smith,  tore  his  hair, 
and  stormed  with  rage  and  grief;  and  behind  there  followed 
a  troop  of  peasant  men  and  women,  with  downcast  eyes  and 
sorrowful  faces.  More  than  one  handkerchief  was  in  requisi- 
tion to  dry  the  tears  of  pity  which  flowed  from  many  an  eye. 
One  would  have  supposed  that  it  was  a  funeral  processioii  ao- 
oompauying  some  beloved  friend  to  the  grave. 


lit  VALES  OF  FLEMISH  Ilfl. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

*D  ttw  MH  Is  too  happy.  It  is  sure  to  go  on  the  ice  and  break  a  l«g.* 

Baas  Gansendonck,  following  his  servant's  advice,  set  Cfrt 
Immediately  after  dinner  to  inquire  into  the  Baron's  intentions. 
As  he  did  not  wish  to  pass  the  smithy,  he  left  his  house  by 
the  back-door,  and  struck  into  a  by-path  which  led  through 
fir-woods,  and  over  a  lonely  field,  to  the  hunting-box  of  Herr 
von  Bminkasteel. 

No  melancholy  was  visible  in  the  countenance  of  mine  host 
Gansendonck,  although  his  daughter  had  lain  in  a  violent 
fever  since  morning.  On  the  contrary,  it  expressed  an  assured 
self-complacency ;  and  every  now  and  then  he  smiled — a  smile 
as  bright  and  cheerful  as  if  he  had  gained  some  great  victory. 
From  the  movements  of  his  features,  and  their  varying  ex- 
pression, one  could  easily  see  that  his  mind  was  occupied  with 
nothing  but  pleasing  fancies,  and  that  he  was  heedlessly 
letting  his  thoughts  flow  down  the  stream  of  hope  and  delu- 
sion. He  had  for  a  long  time  muttered  to  himself  in  a  low 
tone,  and  betrayed  his  inner  feelings  only  by  his  gestTU-es  and 
expressions ;  but  at  last  his  imagination  became  too  powerful 
for  him,  his  voice  became  gradually  louder,  and  he  spoke 
aloud — 

**  Oh  1  they  all  conspire  against  me,  and  believe,  forsooth, 
that  I  will  yield  one  foot  to  their  stupid  outcry  I  Baas  Gan- 
sendonck will  soon  show  them  what  he  is  and  what  he  can 


MINE  HOST  GANSENDONCK.  187 

do.  Some  men  might  say,  *  Better  to  have  frieuda  than 
enemies ; '  bnt  I  say,  '  Better  to  be  envied  than  pitied.  Every- 
body's Mend  is  everybody's  fool.'  The  Baron  will  not  marry 
Lisa?  And  he  has  this  very  day  sent  his  servants  twice  to 
inquire  how  she  is  I  If  I  can  see  anything  at  all,  there  is  no 
room  for  doubt  here.  Has  he  not  himself  often  said  to  me 
that  Lisa  is  much  too  good  and  too  refined  to  be  the  wife  of  a 
coarse  peasant  ?  Has  he  not  added,  too,  *  She  must  make  a 
better  marriage,  and  render  some  man  happy  who  can  under- 
stand her  worth'  ?  To  me  it  all  seems  clear  enough.  I  dare 
say  the  rascally  boors  imagine  that  a  Baron  manages  these 
matters  like  them,  and  without  farther  ado  says,  *  Betty,  shall 
we  be  married?'  No ;  that  is  not  the  way  such  things  are 
managed  in  high  life.  How  ?  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  refuse 
to  marry  Lisa  ?  I  bet  five  acres  that  he  will  fall  on  my  necK 
the  moment  I  begin  to  speak  of  her.  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel 
not  marry  Lisa  1  not  marry  her  I  As  if  I  had  not  perceived 
why  he  was  always  so  kind  to  me,  and  treated  me  with  such 
politeness  that  everybody  noticed  it  I  And  it  always  was 
*  Herr  von  Gansendonck '  here,  and  *  Friend  Gansendonck  * 
there.  And  then  the  hares  which  he  sent  1  and  the  partridges 
he  brought  I  And  Lisa  never  eats  game  either ;  from  which  it 
is  clear  that  he  meant  to  curry  favour  with  me.  Why  ?  cer- 
tainly not  for  the  sake  of  my  beautiful  eyes.  No,  no,  he  only 
wished  to  smooth  his  way  before  taking  the  great  final  step. 
I  shall  make  the  thing  easy  for  him ;  he  shall  be  very  merry 
5ver  it." 

Mine  host  rubbed  his  hands  in  his  great  self-complacency, 
and  was  silent  for  a  time,  apparently  only  the  better  to  enjoy 
his  sweet  fancies.  Suddenly  he  burst  out  into  a  loud  laugh 
and  said — 

**  Aha  I  I  think  I  see  them  all  standing  in  the  village,  with 
as  long  as  my  walking-stick.    There  walks  the  Barop 


188  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

with  Lisa  on  his  arm— clothed  so  gorgeously,  that  the  peasant! 
have  to  shut  their  eyes  before  the  splendour  I  Four  servants, 
their  hats  all  covered  with  gold  and  silver  lace,  follow  him ; 
and  a  little  behind,  the  coach  and  four  I  I,  Peer  Gansen- 
donck,  I — walk  by  the  side  of  Heir  Baron  von  Bruinkasteel, 
with  head  elate,  and  look  at  the  slanderous  and  envious  crea- 
tures as  it  beseems  a  Baron's  father-in-law  to  look  at  the  oom- 
mon  herd.  Then  we  walk  on  in  state  till  we  reach  the  church  ; 
fine  carpets  and  cushions  are  all  prepared  for  our  use ;  the 
organ  plays  till  the  window-panes  rattle ;  the  *  I  do '  is  pro- 
nounced before  the  altar,  and  Lisa  is  off  with  her  husband, 
dashing  and  clattering  through  the  village  by  special  post,  so 
that  sparks  fly  out  of  the  stones.  Next  morning,  at  least 
twenty  peasants  lie  a-bed  with  vexation  and  envy.  Mean- 
while, I  sell  or  let  the  St.  Sebastian,  and  when  my  son-in-law 
returns  with  my  daughter,  I  remove  to  the  Castle.  Baas 
G^ansendonck — ^that  is,  Herr  von  Gansendonck — has  feathered 
ais  nest  indeed :  he  never  does  anything  afterwards  but  order, 
eat,  hunt,  and  take  the  air  on  horseback.  But  while  I  am 
thinking  of  all  these  glorious  things,  I  am  running  my  nose 
right  on  the  door  of  the  hunting-box  I" 

So  Baying,  mine  host  pulled  the  bell.  After  waiting  for  a 
time,  a  servant  came  to  the  door,  and  said  while  opening  it — 

"  Oh,  good-day,  Baas  I  You  come,  I  suppose,  to  visit  his 
lordship?" 

"  I  do,  fellow,"  said  mine  host  in  a  tone  of  superiority. 

"  He  is  not  at  home." 

"What I  not  at  home?" 

"  That  is,  he  will  see  nobody." 

"  What  I  he  will  not  see  me  f  That  were  fine,  to  be  sure  1 
He  is  in  bed,  perhaps?" 

"  No,  but  he  will  receive  no  one.  You  may  gueag  why :  ft 
black  eye,  and  a  face  all  scarred  " — 


MINE  HOST  GANSENDOHCX.  l89 

^What  of  that?  He  does  not  need  to  conceal  his  face 
firom  me ;  we  are  intimate  enough,  the  Herr  Baron  and  I,  to 
admit  of  my  seeing  him  although  he  is  confined  to  bed.  I 
shall  go  in  ;  his  order  is  not  meant  to  apply  to  me." 

"  Come  in,  then,  if  you  will,"  said  the  servant  with  a  cun- 
ning smile.     "  Follow  me,  I  shall  announce  you." 

"  That  is  quite  unnecessary,"  said  Baas ;  "  forms  between 
JIB  are  superfluous." 

The  attendant  led  him  into  an  ante- chamber,  and  compelled 
him,  spite  of  his  expostulation,  to  sit  down  and  wait  the 
Baron's  reply.  More  than  half  an  hour  had  already  elapsed, 
and  the  servant  had  not  yet  returned.  Mine  host's  choler 
gradually  rose,  and  he  muttered  to  himself — 

"This  fellow  means  to  make  sport  of  me,  I  see.  Very 
good ;  I  shall  take  a  note  of  it.  He  shall  not  get  gray  hairs 
in  our  service :  he  must  pack  1  This  conduct  will  get  him  a 
reprimand  as  it  is. . . .  Were  I  to  listen  till  I  was  deaf,  I  be- 
lieve I  should  hear  nothing  moving  in  the  whole  house  I  Is 
it  possible  that  the  fellow  has  pretended  to' forget  that  he  has 
left  me  waiting  here  ?  He  could  not  carry  his  boorishness  so 
far  surely!  At  all  events,  I  cannot  sit  here  till  morning. 
Aha  I  there  I  hear  the  villain  I  He  laughs.  With  whon) 
does  he  laugh,  I  wonder?" 

"  Baas  Gansendonck,"  said  the  servant,  opening  the  door, 
"  please  to  follow  me.  The  Herr  Baron  has  the  goodness  to 
receive  you ;  had  it  not  been  for  my  good  word,  you  should 
have  had  to  go  home  again  without  doing  your  errand." 

"What  is  that  you  say,  you  ill-mannered  rascal?"  cried 
Baas,  with  irritation.  "  Do  you  know  whom  you  are  speak- 
ing to  ?    I  am  Herr  Gansendonck." 

"  And  I  am  Jack  Miermans,  at  your  service,"  replied  the 
servant  coldly  and  contemptuously. 

"  I  shall  know  where  to  find  you  some  other  time,  fellow  1" 


190  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB, 

said  mine  host,  as  be  went  up  stairs.  "  You  shall  know  what 
it  is  to  have  kept  me  waiting  half  an  hour  in  an  ante-room. 
Pack  up  as  quickly  as  you  please ;  you  shall  not  stay  much 
longer  here  to  make  sport  of  men  like  me." 

Without  replying  to  the  threat,  the  servant  opened  the  door 
of  the  drawing-room,  and  called  out  with  a  loud  voice — 

"  Mine  host  from  the  St.  Sebastian,"  and  immediately  ran 
down  stairs,  letting  the  enraged  Gansendonck  stand  where  he 
was. 

Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  sat  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room, 
leaning  with  his  elbow  on  the  table.  His  left  eye  was  covered 
with  a  bandage,  and  his  brow  and  cheeks  bore  marks  of  the 
Btruggle  of  the  preceding  night.  The  object,  however,  which 
most  of  all  attracted  Gansendonck's  attention  as  he  entered, 
was  the  Baron's  splendid  Turkish  dressing-gown.  The  varie- 
gated velvet-like  dress  arrested  his  eyes  so  powerfully  that, 
with  a  smile  of  surprise,  he  exclaimed,  before  even  greeting 
the  Baron — 

"Heavens,  Herr  Baron  I  what  a  beautiful  dressing-gown 
you  have  on  I " 

"  Good-day,  Herr  Gansendonck  I"  said  the  Baron,  without 
paying  any  attention  to  him.  "  You  are  desirous,  I  suppose, 
to  learn  how  it  goes  with  me.     I  thank  you  for  your  kind- 


"  Do  not  be  offended,  Herr  Baron ;  but  before  I  inquire 
after  your  health,  I  should  like  much  to  know  where  you  bad 
that  dressing-gown  made — I  cannot  get  it  out  of  my  eyes." 

"  Do  not  make  me  smile,  Herr  Gansendonck  ;  it  pains  my 
face  very  much." 

"  I  am  tt^t  joking,  Herr  Baron ;  no,  no,  I  am  in  solema 
earnest." 

'^Yoar  question  is  a  singular  one.  This  dressing-gowi 
WM  pozchased  in  Paris.'' 


MINE  HOST  QANSEMDONCK.  Ifl 

**  At  Paris?    That  is  very  vexing,  Baron." 

"Why  BO?" 

"I  should  have  ordered  one  to  be  made  precisely  tht 
same." 

"  It  cost  two  hundred  francs." 

**  Never  mind  that." 

•*  It  would  not  he  suitable  for  you,  Herr  Gansendonck." 

"  Not  suitable  I  If  I  can  pay  for  it,  it  will  become  me 
well  enough,  I  should  suppose.  But  leaving  that  subject, 
how  is  it  with  your  health,  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel  ?" 

**  Yon  see — a  black  eye,  and  a  body  literally  covered  with 
bruises." 

"  The  villain  has  been  captured  by  the  gendarmes,  and  is 
on  his  way  to  the  city  now.  You  will  make  him  pay  for  his 
brutal  attack  as  he  ought  ?" 

"Certainly,  he  must  be  punished.  He  has  waylaid  me 
with  malice  prepense,  and  attacked  me  on  my  own  property. 
A  heavy  punishment  is  attached  to  such  crimes ;  still,  I  do 
not  wish  that  the  law  should  be  enforced  with  the  utmost 
rigour ;  for  in  that  case  he  could  not  escape  with  less  than 
five  years'  imprisonment.  His  old  mother  was  with  me  this 
morning,  beseeching  and  imploring  me  to  have  mercy.  I  am 
sorry  for  the  poor  woman." 

"  Sorry  I "  cried  Baas,  with  irritation  and  surprise ;  "  sony 
for  such  a  wretch  I" 

"  Though  the  son  be  a  fool,  in  what  respect  is  the  old 
mother  to  be  blamed  ?" 

"  She  should  have  brought  up  her  son  better.  The  low 
scoundrel  will  get  only  what  he  deserves.  And  what  would 
the  peasants  think,  if  they  found  they  could  treat  men  like  ns 
as  if  they  were  our  equals  ?  No,  no,  respect,  honour,  subjec- 
tion, must  all  be  kept  up.  Already  they  are  carrying  their 
beads  too  high.    Were  I  in  your  place,  I  should  spare  IM 


Iff  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

money  to  make  the  brewer,  and  the  whole  village  with  IcAn^ 
suffer  for  this." 

"  Well  that  is  my  affair." 

"  I  know  that  well,  Hen  Baron.  Every  one  is  master  in 
his  own  concerns." 

This  direction  of  the  conversation  was  apparently  disagree- 
able to  the  Baron ;  for  he  looked  aside,  and  sat  for  a  moment 
without  saying  a  word.  Mine  host,  who  was  also  at  a  loss  for 
something  to  say,  looked  round  the  room  with  a  perplexed  air 
in  search  of  something  which  might  naturally  introduce  the 
subject  of  his  daughter's  marriage.  He  scraped  his  feet  and 
cleared  his  throat  several  times  ;  but  nothing  would  come. 

"  And  our  poor  Lisa  I "  said  the  Baron  at  last ;  "  the  sight 
of  the  brewer's  capture  must  have  shocked  her  very  much.  I 
dan  easily  understand  it ;  she  has  loved  him  since  she  was  a 
child." 

Mine  host  seemed  to  awake  out  of  a  dream  the  moment 
Lisa's  name  sounded  in  his  ears.  He  thought  that  now  the 
Fay  was  smoothed  for  carrying  out  his  plans,  and  accordingly 
replied  with  a  smile — 

"She  love  him,  do  you  say.  Baron?  No,  no;  it  was  a 
premature  calf-love,  as  people  call  it ;  but  that  is  all  past  long 
since.  I  showed  the  brewer  to  the  door,  and  bolted  it  behind 
him.  You  think,  I  daresay.  Baron,  and  with  good  reason,  that 
the  coarse  beer-cask  would  fain  have  married  our  Lisa?" 

"  There  are  other  people.  Baas,  who  were  able  to  perceive 
their  mutual  affection." 

A  beam  of  joy  lighted  up  mine  host's  eyes ;  and,  leaping 
from  his  seat,  he  said,  with  a  stupid,  cunning  smile — 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  you  are  after.  A  shrewd  man  can 
•a«ily  tell  where  the  cow  lies  when  he  sees  its  tail." 

**  A  clever  comparison." 

^  Ii  it  not  so,  Baron  ?    Ko,  I  should  think  I  am  not » 


MINE  HOST  GANSENDONCK.  198 

BtQpid.  But  let  US  take  the  cow  by  the  horns ;  there  is  no 
need  of  roundabouts  between  us." 

The  Baron  looked  at  Baas  with  a  suppressed  smile. 

"  Then  does  the  Herr  Baron  think  seriously  of  marriage?" 
asked  Gansendonck  confidently. 

"  From  what  quarter  have  you  learned  that  ?  I  have  con- 
cealed it  even  from  my  own  friends." 

"  I  know  all  about  it,  Baron ;  ha  I  ha  I  I  have  more  in 
my  pocket  than  you  suppose." 

"  Indeed  I  why,  you  must  be  a  fortune-teller ;  or  you  only 
guess  it :  you  hit  the  nail  on  the  head,  however." 

"  Well,  then.  Baron,"  said  Baas,  rubbing  his  hands,  "  we 
shall  make  short  work  of  all  that  remains  to  be  done.  You 
gee,  I  shall  make  a  sacrifice ;  I  shall  give  my  Lisa  a  dowry 
of  thirty  thousand  francs  in  money  and  property.  When  I 
die,  she  will  get  thirty  thousand  more.  I  shall  sell  the  inn, 
that  I  may  cut  the  society  of  awkward  boors  for  ever — and  I 
shall  live  in  the  castle  with  you.  So  in  that  way,  you  will 
in  fact  get  the  sixty  thousand  from  the  first." 

At  these  words,  he  rose,  offered  the  Baron  his  hand,  and 
»aid — 

"  You  see,  my  friend,  I  do  not  make  many  difficulties.  Now, 
Herr  von  Bniinkasteel,  let  us  shake  hands  on  this  marriage. 
— Why  do  you  draw  back  your  hand  ?" 

"*0n  this  marriage!'  On  what  marriage?"  asked  the 
Baron. 

"  Come,  take  your  father-in-law's  hand,  and  within  fourteen 
days  the  banns  will  be  proclaimed  I  Do  not  be  shamefaced, 
Baron ;  we  are  not  children  now.  Give  me  your  hand,  and 
the  matter  is  settled." 

The  Baron  burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  At  the  sight  of  this, 
oonstemation  and   anxiety  were   depicted   on  mine  host'f 


194  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

"Why  do  yon  langli,  Herr  von  Bniinkasteel?"  be  aslred  hk 
perplexity.     "  Perhaps  from  joy  ?" 

"Whatl  Herr  Gansendonck,"  exclaimed  the  Baron,  so 
■oon  as  he  could  control  himself,  "  are  you  out  of  your  senses  ? 
or  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"  Have  yon  not  said  yourself  that  you  mean  to  be  mar- 
ried?" 

"  Yes,  with  a  lady  in  Paris !  She  is  not  so  beautiful  as 
your  Lisa ;  but  she  is  a  countess,  and  the  possessor  of  an  old 
and  distinguished  name." 

This  cut  Baas  to  the  quick ;  he  trembled  from  top  to  toe  ; 
and  said,  in  imploring  accents — 

"  Herr  Baron,  no  jestmg ;  pray,  if  you  will  be  so  good  I  yon 
intend  to  marry  my  Lisa,  do  you  not?  I  know  you  are  fond 
of  a  laugh,  and  like  a  joke  of  all  things ;  but  consider,  Baron, 
that  girls  like  our  Lisa  are  not  to  be  found  everywhere.  Beau- 
tiful as  a  flower  in  the  field,  well  educated,  amiable,  of  good 
birth,  with  thirty  thousand  francs  down,  and  as  much  in  ex- 
pectation :  all  this  surely  is  not  to  be  laughed  at ;  and  I  do 
not  know  a  single  countess  who  offers  so  many  attractions.  A 
good  opportunity  flies  over  the  sea  with  the  stork,  and  one 
never  knows  when  it  will  return." 

"  Poor  Gansendonck  I "  said  the  Baron ;  "  I  pity  you  I  Ten 
certainly  cannot  have  your  five  senses  I  There  must  be  a 
screw  loose  in  your  head  somewhere." 

"What !  what  I "  exclaimed  Baas,  somewhat  excited ; — "  but 
I  will  control  myself ;  it  is  perhaps  only  a  jest.  Our  misun- 
derstanding must  have  an  end,  however.  I  ask  you  directly, 
Herr  von  Bruinkasteel,  will  you  marry  my  daughter,  or  will 
you  not  ?  Have  the  goodness  to  give  me  a  short  and  clear 
answer." 

"  It  is  dn  impossible  for  me  to  marry  Lisa,  Baas,  as  it  is  for 
yoQ  to  many  the  morning-star !" 


IDNB  HOST  6AN8END0MCK.  If  5 

•*And  why  bo,  then?"  cried  Baas,  now  at  length  raging; 
**  why  so  ?  Perhaps  you  are  too  good  for  us  ?  The  Gansen- 
doncks,  let  me  tell  you,  are  respectable  people,  sir ;  they  have 
many  a  pretty  bit  of  land  under  the  blue  sky.  Say,  in  a 
word,  will  you  marry  my  daughter,. or  will  you  not?" 

"  Your  question  is  ridiculous ;  but  I  shall  answer  it — No  I 
I  shall  marry  Lisa  neither  to-day  nor  to-morrow,  nor  ever » 
And  now,  leave  me,  with  your  amusing  madness  I" 

Trembling  with  rage,  and  red  as  a  turkey-cock  with  shame 
and  wrath,  mine  host  stamped  his  feet  on  the  carpet. 

"  So  my  question  is  ridiculous,  is  it  ?  I  am  a  fool,  am  I  ? 
You  will  not  marry  Lisa  I  We  shall  see  about  that  I  Jus- 
tice is  for  every  man — for  me  as  well  as  for  a  Baron  I  And 
if  it  were  to  cost  me  half  my  wealth,  I  shall  find  a  way  to 
force  you.  What  I  you  will  force  yourself  into  my  house  with 
hypocritical  face,  tell  my  daughter  a  heap  of  lies,  bring  her 
good  name  into  disrepute,  make  sport  of  me  ! — and  then  dare 
to  say,  *  I  will  not  marry  her ;  I  will  marry  a  countess  I '  It 
will  not  do.  Baron.  No  one  shall  trifle  thus  with  Baas  Gan- 
sendonck.  After  what  happened  yesterday,  you  dare  no  longer 
refuse  me.  You  must  repair  my  daughter's  honour,  or  I  shall 
bring  you  to  law,  and  push  the  suit  even  to  Brussels.  You 
must  marry  her ;  and  if  you  do  not  immediately  say  *  Yes,*  I 
forbid  you  ever  again  to  set  foot  across  my  threshold." 

During  this  outbreak,  the  Baron  had  looked  at  Baas  with  a 
quiet  smile  of  pity,  and  with  great  calmness.  But  as  the  lat- 
ter began  to  threaten,  the  sudden  flush  on  his  face  indicated 
anger  or  indignation. 

"  Herr  Gans'indonck,"  he  said,  "  out  of  respect  for  myself 
I  ought  to  pull  the  bell  and  order  my  servants  to  turn  you  out 
of  my  house ;  but  honestly,  I  pity  your  insanity.  If  yon 
please,  I  shall  once  for  all  clearly  and  decidedly  reply  to  all 
you  have  said,  and  can  say.     In  what  has  occurred,  lies  a 


IH  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

lesson  for  yon  as  well  as  for  me.  We  shall  both  do  well  to 
make  good  use  of  it." 

"I  wish  to  know,"  interrupted  Baas,  "whether  yon  will 
marry  Lisa  or  not?" 

"  Have  you  no  ears,  that  yon  ask  me  the  same  question  so 
often  ?  Attend,  Herr  Gansendouck,  to  what  I  am  going  to 
say ;  and  do  not  interrupt  me,  otherwise  my  servants  will 
bring  our  interview  to  an  abrupt  termination." 

"  I  am  listening,  I  am  listening,"  muttered  Baas,  grinding 
his  teeth  "  If  I  should  die,  I  shall  not  speak  a  word  till  my 
turn  comes." 

"  You  accuse  me  of  forcing  myself  into  your  house,"  re- 
sumed the  Baron ;  "  and  yet  you  are  quite  aware  that  you 
yourself  invited  me,  and  forced  the  acquaintance  of  your 
daughter  on  me.  What  have  I  done,  then,  which  was  not 
done  with  your  full  concurrence?  Nothing.  On  the  con- 
trary, you  considered  that  I  did  not  treat  your  daughter  with 
sufficient  boldness.  Now,  you  desire  that  I  should  marry 
her.  So  it  was  a  trap  you  were  laying  for  me,  and  you  had 
your  secret  designs  in  it  all  I  Judge  yourself  whether  I  ought 
not  to  look  with  abhorrence  on  such  detestable  plans.  I  came 
to  Lisa  because  her  society  was  agreeable  to  me,  and  because 
a  genuine  feeling  of  friendship  attracted  me  to  her.  If  this 
inteicDurse,  by  which  I  meant  to  honour  you,  has  had  a  sad 
end  for  us  all,  it  has  arisen  from  neglecting  the  proverb,  *  Keep 
with  your  like.'  We  have  both  acted  imprudently,  and  are 
both  punished.  I  was,  to  my  great  disgrace,  almost  beaten  to 
death  by  a  peasant ;  you  have  become  the  jest  of  the  village, 
and  now  see  crumbling  into  ruins  all  the  air-cafitles  which 
you  have  been  building.  Better  confess  at  the  gallows  than 
never.  T  know  that  I  did  wrong  in  visiting  a  country  inn, 
and  acting  as  if  I  were  your  equal ;  and  now  I  see  clearly 
that  if  Lisa  had  not  had  a  strong  defence  in  her  own  pure 


MINE  HOST  GANSENDONCK.  197 

nature,  my  conversation  and  behayioiir  would  liave  done  much 
to  ruin  her  beautiful  character." 

"What  ifl  that  you  say?"  interrupted  Baas.  "Have  yon 
ever  uttered  anything  immoral  to  my  daughter,  you  seducer?" 

"  I  laugh  at  your  folly,"  continued  the  Baron  coldly ;  "  and 
will  still  for  a  moment  forget  who  it  is  who  dares  speak  so  to 
me.  I  have  said  nothing  to  your  daughter  but  what  is  re- 
garded among  the  higher  classes  as  mere  compliments  of  the 
day — things  which  are  peculiar  to  the  French  language,  and 
do  little  harm,  perhaps,  to  people  who  from  youth  up  have 
heard  nothing  else,  but  which  corrupt  the  heart  and  morals 
in  a  lower  rank  of  life,  because  there  they  are  received  aa 
truth,  and  rouse  passion,  empty  compliments  though  they  be. 
Therein  have  I  erred.  It  is  the  only  fault — the  only  mistake 
which  any  one  can  charge  me  with  ;  but  which  you  certainly 
^annot  accuse  me  of,  for  you  have  made  me  do  and  say  even 
more  than  I  myself  desired.  You  have  just  threatened  to  for- 
bid me  your  house;  that  is  not  necessary.  I  had  already 
determined  to  put  to  good  use  the  lesson  I  had  been  taught, 
and  never  again  to  visit  you  as  a  friend,  but  henceforth  to 
conduct  myself  towards  every  peasant  as  beseems  my  rank." 

"Peasant!"  exclaimed  Baas  with  impatience,  "I  am  no 
peasant  I  My  name  is  Gansendonck.  What  resemblance  ii 
there  between  a  peasant  and  me  ?    Tell  me." 

"  Unhappily  for  you.^  no  great  outward  resemblance,"  replied 
the  Baron.  "  Your  pride  has  misled  you ;  now,  you  are  neither 
fish  nor  flesh — noither  peasant  nor  gentleman ;  you  will  your 
whole  life  long  meet  with  nothing  but  enmity  and  mockery 
on  the  one  hand,  and  contempt  and  pity  on  the  other.  You 
should  be  ashamed  of  despising  your  own  condition  so  focl- 
ishly.  A  peasant  is  the  most  useful  man  on  earth ;  and  if  he 
only  be  an  honest  and  honourable  man,  who  fulfils  bis  duty 
in  his  position,  he  deserves  above  eveiy  other  to  be  respected 


Its  TALBg  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

and  beloved.  Do  you  know  who  degrade  the  condition  of  « 
peasant  ?  Persons  like  you,  who  imagine  that  a  man  exaltn 
himself  by  looking  with  disdain  upon  his  brother — who  think 
that  they  are  no  longer  peasants  if  only  they  speak  of  peasant* 
with  contempt,  and  that  it  is  sufficient  to  hang  eagle's  feathers 
on  their  body  in  order  to  be  an  eagle." 

"Have  I  now  listened  long  enough?"  cried  Baas,  leaping 
np,  "  or  do  you  imagine,  Herr  Baron,  that  I  have  come  here 
to  let  myself  be  dragged  through  the  mud  in  this  way,  with- 
out answering  a  word  ?" 

"  One  word  more,"  rejoined  the  Baron ;  "  I  will  give  you  a 
good  advice,  Herr  Gansendonck.  Write  over  your  bedroom 
door  the  proverb — ^  Shoemaker j  keep  by  your  last*  Dresa 
like  other  peasants,  speak  and  act  like  people  of  your  own 
rank.  Seek  some  good  peasant's  son  for  your  daughter's 
husband,  smoke  your  pipe  and  drink  your  beer  in  friendship 
with  the  villagers,  and  give  yourself  no  more  trouble  to  appear 
what  you  are  not.  Consider,  that  if  an  ass  wears  a  lion's 
hide,  its  ears  peep  through.  And  now  go  home  in  peace  with 
this  lesson ;  you  will  thank  me  for  it  some  future  day.  If 
you  think,  however,  that  you  must  still  say  something,  speak, 
and  I  shall  now  listen." 

Mine  host  sprang  up  from  his  chair,  and  crossing  his  armi 
upon  his  breast  to  repress  his  rage,  said — 

"Oh,  you  imagine  that  you  can  deceive  me  with  your 
assumed  coldness  and  apish  tricks  I  No,  no,  it  shall  not  end 
so.  We  shall  see  whether  there  is  no  law  in  the  country  to 
compel  you,  Herr  Baron  I  I  shall  go  to  your  father  in  the 
city,  and  tell  him  how  you  have  stained  the  honour  of  my 
house.  And  even  if  I  have  to  write  to  the  countess  in  Paris, 
whose  name  you  conceal  through  fear,  I  will  do  it,  put  a  stop 
to  your  marriage,  and  inform  the  whole  world  what  a  vilt 
traitor  you  are." 


MINE  HOST  GANSENDONCK.  Iff 

"Is  that  all  yon  have  to  say?"  asked  the  Baron  with  snp- 
pressed  anger. 

"Will  you  marry  Lisa,  or  will  yon  not?"  screamed  Baas, 
shaking  his  fists  threateningly. 

The  Baron  put  ont  his  hand  and  pnlled  the  bell  twice 
violently.  In  a  moment  the  steps  of  approaching  servants 
were  heard  upon  the  stairs.  Baas  Gansendonck  trembled 
with  rage  and  shame.  The  door  opened,  and  the  servants 
appeared  in  the  room. 

"  Did  not  the  Herr  Baron  ring?"  asked  all  at  once,  per- 
plexed. 

"  Accompany  Herr  Gansendonck  to  the  door,"  he  ordered, 
with  as  much  coolness  as  he  conld  command. 

"Whatl  you  will  cast  me  ont  of  your  house  I"  screamed 
Baas,  choking  with  fury.  "  You  shall  pay  dearly  for  that, 
tyrant  I  traitor  I  seducer!" — 

The  Baron  gave  the  attendants  a  sign,  stood  up,  and  left 
the  apartment  through  a  side  door. 

Mine  host  Gansendonck  looked  thunderstruck,  and  seemed 
not  to  know  whether  to  rail  or  weep;  while  the  servants 
pushed  him  gently  but  irresistibly  towards  the  door,  heedless 
of  his  exclamations.  Before  he  had  got  a  clear  conception  of 
what  was  going  on,  he  found  himself  in  the  open  air,  and  saw 
the  door  of  the  hunting-box  shut  behind  him. 

For  a  time  he  walked  straight  on  dreamily,  like  a  blind 
man,  till  he  struck  his  head  against  a  tree,  and  was  roused 
to  consciousness  by  the  blow.  Then  he  strode  on  rapidly, 
giving  vent  to  his  vexation  and  wrath  by  abusing  the  Baron 
mercilessly.  He  paused  at  the  corner  of  a  wood  to  think ; 
after  ten  minutes  of  the  most  painful  reflection,  he  began 
to  beat  himself  with  his  fists,  and  strike  his  brow  with  lis 
open  hand,  at  every  blow  exclaiming — 

"  Ass  that  you  are  I  dare  yon  show  face  at  home,  yea  owl  f 


900  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

The  whip  is  too  good  for  yon,  you  stupid  clod  I  This  wiH 
teach  you  to  hunt  after  barons  and  fine  gentlemen !  Yes,  go 
and  put  on  a  white  waistcoat  and  yellow  gloves  I  A  fool's 
cap  would  suit  you  better.  Simple  and  stupid  enough  to  be 
drowned  in  a  windmill  I  Hide  yourself — creep  into  the  earth 
for  shame,  you  thick-headed  boor  I — thick-headed  boor  I — 
thick-headed  boorl" 

At  last,  after  he  had  exhausted  his  vexation  on  himself,  the 
tears  gushed  from  his  eyes ;  and  weeping  and  sighing,  ashamed 
and  grieved,  he  walked  on  towards  his  dwelling. 

Suddenly  he  perceived  at  a  distance  his  servant  hastening 
to  meet  him,  and  shouting  out  unintelligible  words  with  great 
apparent  excitement — 

"  Baas,  Baas  I  come  quickly  I"  cried  Kob^  as  he  approached 
his  master.     "  Our  poor  Lisa  lies  in  the  agonies  of  death." 

"  0  God  I "  sighed  Baas  Gansendonck.  "  Everything  over- 
whelms me  at  once,  and  every  one  forsakes  me  1 — You  too, 
Kobe  I" 

"  Forgive  and  forget,"  said  Kob^,  with  deep  compassion. 
"  You  are  unfortunate ;  I  will  stay  by  you  so  long  as  I  can 
be  of  use.     But  come,  come  quickly  I " 

Both  hastened  towards  the  village  with  rapid  stridei|  and 
witli  ftnxioui  and  torrowing  hearta. 


HOST  OANSENDOMGB*  101 


CHAPTER  X. 

-  Shame  is  the  daughter  of  prltei" 

The  winter  is  past.  Already  the  trees  and  herbs  begin  to 
anfold  their  tender  green  in  the  mild  sunshine  ;  the  birds  are 
building  their  nests,  and  have  begun  their  sweet  May  songs  ; 
CTerything  exults  in  its  young  energy — everything  smiles 
hopefully  towards  the  future,  as  if  a  gray  cloud  could  never 
again  darken  the  beautiful  blue  sky. 

In  a  side-room  of  the  St.  Sebastian,  a  sick  girl  was  reclin- 
ing, her  head  supported  upon  pillows.  Poor  Lisa !  a  worm 
was  gnawing  at  her  heart,  and  wearing  her  life  away ! 
Yonder  she  sits,  motionless,  and  yet  panting  with  exhaustion ; 
the  slightest  movement  is  a  painful  effort  to  her.  Her  coun- 
tenance is  pale,  and  transparent  as  glass ;  but  upon  each  of 
her  wasted  cheeks  a  hectic  flush  glows  faintly — a  sad  sign  I 
Sunk  in  a  deep  reverie,  her  thin  fingers  carelessly  strip  some 
daisies  of  their  leaves — little  flowers  which  have  been  gathered 
to  please  her,  as  one  would  please  a  child.  She  lets  them 
fall  to  the  ground,  her  head  sinks  back  powerless  upon  the 
cushion,  her  glassy  eye  gazes  heavenwards,  into  the  infinite  ; 
already  her  soul  mingles  itself  with  the  Eternal. 

At  a  little  distance  behind  the  maiden,  and  near  the  win- 
dow, sat  poor  Baas  Gansendonck,  his  arms  folded  on  his  breast. 
His  sunken  head,  his  half-closed  eyes  fixed  intently  on  Um 


TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LDHk 

gfronnd)  and  his  melancholj  features,  expressed  repentance, 
shame,  and  bitter  sorrow. 

Of  what  nature  were  the  thoughts  of  the  unhappy  father, 
who  saw  his  only  child  wasting  away,  a  martyr  to  his  folly  ? 
Did  he  know  that  his  pride  was  the  executioner  who  had 
brought  the  innocent  sacrifice  to  the  altar  ?  Be  that  as  it  may, 
he,  too,  evidently  concealed  in  his  heart  a  torturing  sriake ; 
for  the  deep  wrinkles  of  sorrow  which  furrowed  his  face,  his 
wan  cheeks,  and  slow  motions,  showed  too  clearly  that  the 
last  sparks  of  self-confidence,  energy,  and  hope,  were  quite 
extinguished  in  his  breast. 

The  gentlest  sigh  of  his  sick  daughter  made  him  shudder ; 
her  painful  cough  tore  his  heart  in  pieces.  If  she  directed  a 
Buffering  look  towards  him,  he  trembled,  as  if  in  her  lifeless 
eyes  he  read  the  terrible  word — child-murder  I  Now,  when 
the  feeling  of  love  within  him  had  been  freed  from  the  pride 
which  had  obscured  it,  and  was  experienced  in  all  its  purity 
and  strength,  he  would  cheerfully  have  endured  the  most 
painful  death  to  prolong  his  child's  life  but  a  single  year. 

Poor  Gansendonckl  Everything  in  the  world  had  so 
smiled  upon  him.  Beautifnl  dreams  of  fortune  and  greatness 
had  all  his  life  long  played  with  him..  And  now  he  sat  there 
like  a  dumb  ghost  beside  his  dying  child ;  anxious  and  trem- 
bling, like  a  malefactor  at  the  bar  of  Divine  justice.  K,  on 
the  one  hand,  the  perpetual  gnawing  of  conscience,  and  con- 
tinual reflection  on  the  past,  had  made  his  body  old ;  it  had, 
on  the  other  hand,  led  his  soul  out  of  the  darkness  of  pride 
and  presumption,  and  softened  his  whole  nature.  Now,  his 
dress  was  poor,  his  speech  firiendly,  and  his  bearing  modest. 
Patiently  enduring  his  heavy  lot,  his  whole  life  was  now  de- 
voted to  soothe  his  daughter's  affliction,  and  obtain  Charles'i 
freedom. 

Baas  Gansendonck  had  sat  for  half  an  hour  in  the  same 


mSTB  HOST  GANSENDOirCK.  308 

position ;  he  held  his  breatn,  and  did  not  stir  a  limb,  for  fear 
of  disturbing  his  daughter's  repose.  At  last,  Lisa  raised  her 
head,  with  a  sigh  of  restlessness  and  pain.  Baas  approached 
her  with  deep  feeling — 

"  Lisa,  darling,  it  distresses  you,  does  it  not,  to  sit  always 
in  this  room,  and  alone  ?  See  how  brightly  the  sun  shines 
out  there,  and  how  soft  and  fresh  the  air  is.  I  have  put  a 
chair  in  the  garden — shall  I  take  you  into  the  sunshine  ?  The 
doctor  said  that  it  would  do  you  good." 

"  0  no,  father,  let  me  stay  here,"  she  sighed. — "  This  pil- 
low IB  so  hard." 

"The  perpetual  stillness  of  this  room  is  painful,  Lisa. 
Your  heart  needs  something  to  revive  it." 

"*The  perpetual  stillness!'"  repeated  the  maiden,  mus- 
ing ;  "  ah  I  how  still  and  sweet  it  must  be  in  the  grave  I " 

"  Oh,  Lisa,  leave  these  sad  thoughts !  Come,  shall  I  help 
you  ?  No  one  shall  see  you,  for  I  shall  keep  the  garden  door 
shut ;  and  you  shall  sit  in  the  beautiful  ash-grove,  and  see 
how  gloriously  the  flowers  blossom,  and  hear  how  charmingly 
the  birds  sing !     Do  it  to  please  me,  Lisa." 

"  Well  then,  father,  from  love  to  you,  I  will  try  whether  I 
can  still  go  so  far." 

Supporting  herself  on  the  table  with  both  hands,  she  raised 
herself  slowly  up  ;  hot  tears  streamed  down  her  father's  face, 
when  he  saw  how  she  tottered,  and  how  all  her  limbs  shook, 
as  if  her  body  were  a  burden  too  heavy  for  her.  Silently  he 
put  his  arm  round  her,  and  almost  carried  her  along.  In  this 
way,  father  and  daughter  went  step  by  step  through  the  house 
— standing  still  to  rest  more  than  once  on  their  way — and 
reached  the  garden  with  difficulty,  where  Lisa,  exhausted  and 
coughing  painfully,  sank  into  the  arm-chair.  After  Baas  had 
placed  the  pillows  comfortably  behind  her,  and  under  her  head, 
hf  sat  down  by  her  side  and  waited  till  she  had  somewhat 


TALES  OP  FLEMISH  LUTI. 

t&oCfwered  from  her  exhaustion.     At  last  he  said,  while  t1i« 
tears  flowed  fast,  and  his  voice  sounded  sadly  on  the  ear — 

**  Have  good  hopes,  Lisa  dear ;  the  beautiful  summer  has 
begun — the  sweet,  pure  air  will  strengthen  you.  You  will 
grow  well  again." 

"Ah,  father,  why  deceive  me?"  sighed  the  dying  girl, 
faintly  shaking  her  head.     "  Whoever  sees  me — and  you  too, 
father — sheds  tears,  and  weeps  over  my  fate  I     There  is  no 
hope  now  !     Is  it  not  so  ?    Before  the  Church-fest*  comes, 
shall  lie  in  the  grave  I" 

"My  child!  do  not  grieve  yourself  with  such  dreadful 
thoughts." 

"*  Dreadful  thoughts  I'  In  the  world  there  is  no  good 
thing,  father.  Would  that  I  were  now  in  heaven  1  Yonder 
there  is  heaku,  bliss,  and  eternal  life  I " 

"  Charles  will  soon  return,  Lisa.  Have  you  not  said  your- 
self that  you  would  soon  be  well  again?  He  will  comfort 
you ;  his  friendly  words  will  breathe  new  life  into  you,  and 
deliver  you  from  your  heavy  suflPerings." 

"  Still  six  months  I"  sighed  the  maiden  despairingly,  look- 
ing towards  heaven,  as  if  asking  something  of  God  ;  "  still  six 
months!" 

"  Perhaps  not  so  long,  Lisa ;  Kobfe  went  yesterday  to  Bros- 
•els  with  a  letter  from  our  burgomaster  to  the  gentleman  who 
is  our  intercessor  with  the  Minister ;  and  everything  encour- 
ages us  to  hope  that  we  shall  get  a  diminution  of  Charles's 
punishment.  Then  he  will  be  set  free  at  once.  If  God  so 
wills  it,  Kobe  will  bring  us  this  very  afternoon  the  joyful 
news  of  his  early  release  from  prison.  Lisa,  my  child,  do 
you  not  feel  already  the  beginning  of  a  new  life  ?" 

"Poor  Charles!"  sighed  Lisa,  musingly;   "already  four 
long  months  in  prison.     Oh,  father,  I  have  sinned  grievously  { 
celtbtation  of  the  oooMcntioii  of  (he  local  ohoroh.— JV. 


imiS  HOST  OANSENDONCK.  90$  X 

but  he,  who  is  innocent,  what  must  he  suffer  in  his  gloomy 
dungeon  I" 

"  Not  so,  Lisa ;  I  visited  him  the  day  before  yesterday. 
He  bears  his  fate  with  patience ;  if  your  illness  did  not  make 
him  sad,  he  would  count  himself  happy." 

"  He  has  suffered  so  much,  father.  You  will  love  him, 
will  you  not?  and  no  longer  drive  him  unkindly  from  you? 
Oh,  he  is  so  good  I " 

" '  Drive  him  from  me  I '  "  cried  Baas,  with  a  trembling 
voice ;  "  on  my  knees,  I  have  implored  his  pardon ;  and  I 
have  wet  his  feet  with  my  tears  l" 

"  Heavens  I     And  he,  father  ?  " 

"  He  fel  on  my  neck — kissed,  and  consoled  me.  I  would 
have  accused  myself — told  him  that  my  pride  alone  was  the 
cause  of  his  misfortune — vowed  that  my  whole  life  should  be 
an  atonement ;  but  he  closed  my  mouth  with  a  kiss ! — a  kiss 
which,  like  a  heavenly  balsam,  breathed  hope  and  strength 
into  my  heart,  made  me  strong  again,  and  able  to  wait  with 
less  anxiety  for  God's  decree.  Blessed  is  the  merciful,  who 
repays  evil  with  love  1 " 

"And  he  has  forgiven  me  too,  father,  has  he  not ?" 

"  Forgiven  you,  Lisa  ?  In  what  have  you  sinned  ?  Ah  ! 
if  you  suffer — if  a  punishment  from  on  high  seems  to  afflict 
you — it  is  for  my  sins  alone  that  you  are  atoning,  my  poor 
child  I" 

"  And  I,  am  I  not  guilty,  father  ?  Was  it  not  my  levity 
which  from  the  first  tore  his  heart,  and  drove  him  to  despair? 
But  he  has  forgiven  me  all,  I  know,  for  he  is  veiy  good." 

"  No,  no  ;  Charles  has  had  nothing  to  forgive  you.  In  hii 
eyes  you  were  always  pure  and  chaste  as  a  lily  1  Even  then, 
when  my  insane  pride  had  compelled  you  to  do  what  was  im- 
prudent, and  when  everything  concurred  to  cause  mistrust  on 
hif  part,  he  never  cherished  the  smallest  suspicion  of  yon ; 


S06  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

but  said  proudly,  '  Mj  Lisa  is  pore,  and  loves  me  alone  npoii 
the  earth!'" 

A  sweet  smile  played  round  the  young  girrs  lips,  while  she 
said — 

"  Oh,  this  assurance  will  make  the  kiss  of  death  so  soft  and 
pleasing  I  When  I  go  there,  I  shall  pray  to  God  for  him ;  and 
from  heaven  I  shall  smile  upon  him  wherever  he  is,  till  he 
also  comes." 

The  cheerful  tone  of  Lisa's  voice  encouraged  her  father  to 
make  an  attempt  to  divert  her  thoughts  to  more  pleasing  sub- 
jects ;  and  he  said  joyfully — 

**  And  you  do  not  know,  Lisa,  all  that  he  said  to  me  the 
day  before  yesterday,  about  a  beautiful  garden  which  he  means 
to  lay  out  for  you  when  he  is  free  ;  with  its  beautiful  flowers, 
its  winding  paths,  its  arbours,  grassy  plots,  and  little  ponds. 
And  while  they  are  making  it,  he  will  take  you  to  Paris,  and 
show  you  the  most  beautiful  things  in  the  world ;  and  put  new 
life  into  you,  my  darling,  by  his  watchful  love,  and  by  giving 
you  every  kind  of  pleasure  and  happiness.  Oh,  Lisa  1  only  think 
— you  will  be  Charles's  wife  then.  Nothing  on  earth  shall 
ever  separate  you — your  life  will  be  a  heaven  of  bliss  I  And 
Charles  wishes  that  I  should  live  with  you  and  his  mother  in 
the  brewery.  He  is  to  be  my  son ;  and  you,  Lisa,  will  have 
a  tender  mother  again  to  love  you.  I  will  regain  the  good 
will  of  the  villagers  through  gentleness  and  kindness.  Every 
one  will  respect  and  love  us ;  and  we  will  love  one  another  ; 
and  our  lives  on  earth  shall  be  spent  in  peace  and  joy.  But, 
Lisa,  child,  what  is  the  matter? — you  tremble  1  ;Are  you 
not  well?" 

The  young  girl  made  an  effort  to  smile  ;  but  one  could  see 
clearly  that  she  had  not  the  power.  She  feebly  sought  her 
father's  hand,  and  when  she  had  found  it,  spoke,  with  a  weak 
and  gradually  failing  yoice — 


MINE  HOST  GANSENDONCK.  107 

"  Father,  had  God  in  heaven  not  called  me,  your  cheering 
words  might  have  restored  me  to  health ;  but,  ah  I  what  can 
now  deliver  me  from  the  death  which  I  have  always  before 
my  eyes,  like  something — I  cannot  say  what — a  cloud — some- 
thing which  beckons  to  me.  There  I  there  !  again  I  feel  it. 
It  runs  through  my  body,  oh,  so  cold  I  The  air  is  too  keen. 
"Water  1 — ^water  for  my  brow  I  Oh,  father,  dear  father,  I 
think — I  must  die  I " 

With  these  sad  words  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  sank  lifelew 
to  the  ground. 

Baas  Gansendonck  fell  on  his  knees  before  his  daughter, 
and  raised  his  hands  to  heaven  in  earnest  prayer,  while  tears 
gushed  from  his  eyes.  But  he  soon  recollected  himself,  and 
sprang  up  with  feverish  haste  ;  rubbed  the  hands  of  the  un- 
conscious Lisa,  raised  her  head,  called  her  by  her  name,  kissed 
her  stiff  cold  lip,  and  moistened  her  brow  with  tears  of  peni- 
tence and  love.  In  a  short  time,  the  sick  girl  revived.  While 
her  father,  half  mad  with  joy,  watched  in  her  face  the  signi 
of  her  awaking  out  of  her  death-like  sleep,  she  opened  her 
eyes  slowly,  and  looked  round  with  an  expression  of  disap- 
pointment and  surprise. 

"Not  yet?— still  on  earth?"  she  sighed.  "Oh,  father  I 
lead  me  in ;  mj  head  whirls  round  ;  my  breast  glows  as  if  on 
fire ;  the  air  bums  my  lungs  ;  the  sun  pains  me." 

The  father  lifted  her  up  with  a  jealous  care,  as  if  he  would 
carry  his  child  out  of  the  reach  of  the  death  which  threatened 
her,  and  bore  her  into  her  apartment.  There  Lisa  lay  down 
again  by  the  table,  and  silently  laid  her  languid  head  upon 
the  pillow.  Baas  would  have  uttered  some  words  of  comfort, 
but  she  said  imploringly— 

"Do  not  speak,  dear  father:  I  am  so  weary.  Let  m© 
Wst." 

Baas  Gansendonck  resumed  his  seat  without  saying  a  word, 


908  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFl. 

and  wept  in  silence  as  lie  thought  on  the  approaching  deatk 
of  his  darling  child. 

A  half-hour  had  elapsed  without  a  motion,  a  sound,  or  a 
sigh  having  indicated  the  presence  of  living  beings  in  the 
room,  when  suddenly  a  vehicle  drew  up  before  the  door. 

"  There  is  Kobe  I  there  is  Kobe  1 "  cried  Baas  Gansendonck 
ioyfuUy.     "  I  know  our  horse's  tread  I " 

A  feeble  glimmer  of  hope  lighted  up  the  dying  maiden's 
eyes. 

Kobd  entered  the  room.  Lisa  seemed  to  exert  all  her  re- 
maining strength  to  learn  the  joyful  intelligence.  She  raised 
her  head  and  turned  towards  Kobe.     Mine  host  sprang  up— 

"Well,  Kob^,  well?" 

"  Nothing^*  he  replied,  while  tears  filled  his  eyes.  "  The 
gentleman  who  was  to  have  spoken  for  Charles  to  the  Minister 
of  Justice  is  gone  to  Germany." 

A  low  but  painful  cry  of  anguish  burst  from  Lisa's  lips,  her 
head  fell  back  on  the  pillow,  and  a  few  quiet  tears  rolled  over 
her  wan  and  melancholy  face. 

"  Ah  I"  she  sighed,  iJmost  inandiblj.  ^  Ha  ihall  lee  bm 
BomoMoneMrtiil" 


HOST  OANSEMDOMCX.  109 


CHAPTER  XL 

•  ThlttlM  ■own— thorns  looim.* 

Owe  beantifol  morning,  a  young  peasant  walked  with  rapi^ 
itrides  over  the  highway  which  led  from  Antwerp  to  Breda. 
His  breath  went  and  came  quickly,  and  drops  of  perspiration 
stood  on  his  brow.  There  beamed  from  his  eyes,  notwith- 
Btaading,  an  inexpressible  rapture,  and  in  the  quick  glances 
which  he  cast  over  green  field  and  dark  blue  sky,  there 
sparkled  gratitude  to  God,  and  love  for  life-quickening  nature. 
His  steps  were  light,  and  at  intervals  an  involuntary  exclam- 
ation of  joy  escaped  from  his  over-excited  breast.  One  would 
have  said  that  he  was  hastening  with  burning  impatience 
towards  a  spot  where  some  great  good  fortune  awaited  him. 

It  was  no  other  than  Charles  the  brewer,  whose  term  of 
punishment  had  been  shortened,  and  who  was  now  on  his  way 
to  his  native  village  with  his  heart  full  of  happy  dreams.  He 
would  see  his  Lisa  again — console  her  and  bring  her  new  life  I 
Was  it  not  his  condemnation,  his  imprisonment,  which  had 
overwhelmed  her  with  sorrow,  and  made  her  ill  ?  and  would 
not  his  release  and  return  therefore  infallibly  restore  her  to 
health  ?  Yes,  he  returned  to  her  with  a  heart  as  fresh  and 
loving  as  ever ;  he  would  surprise  her  by  his  sudden  appear- 
ance ;  he  would  say,  "  Rise  up  out  of  your  sorrow,  my  Lisa 
Here  am  I,  your  trae,  unaltered  friend  I     Draw  strength 


310  VALB8  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

from  my  love  1  Raise  your  head  hopefally  again,  for  aL  oai 
Borrow  is  over  I  Look  calmly  and  cheerfully  into  the  future  I 
Welcome  life!  a  life  which  promises  us  so  many  beautiful 
years."  And  his  good  old  mother — how  he  would  reward  her 
now  for  all  that  her  rich  maternal  love  had  endured  I  He  saw 
already  in  imagination  how  she  hastened  out  to  meet  him, 
weeping  for  joy — felt  her  arms  round  his  neck,  her  warm  kiss 
glowing  on  his  cheek,  and  her  tears  moistening  his  brow. 
Pleased  with  this  sweet  imagination,  he  laughed  with  delight, 
and,  "  Mother  I  mother  I"  fell  in  fervent  accents  from  his  lips. 

Oh  happy,  happy  was  the  youth  I  The  once  more  tasted 
freedom  made  his  bosom  swell  with  emotion.  The  rich  and 
odorous  air  of  the  fields  surrounded  him,  and  infused  the  fire 
of  life  into  his  breast :  the  vernal  sun  gilded  the  lovely  green 
of  the  firs,  and  clothed  nature  in  a  gorgeous  festal  robe. 
Dreaming  of  a  beautiful  future,  thanking  God  with  overflow- 
ing heart,  enchanting  his  soul  with  fond  pictures  of  all  that 
was  most  dear  to  him,  now  sighing  when  he  thought  of  love, 
and  again  laughing  for  joy,  the  youth  strode  rapidly  on  till  he 
found  himself  about  half  an  hour's  walk  from  his  native  village. 

There  all  of  a  sudden  he  stood  still,  trembling  as  if  some 
miexpected  and  hateful  sight  had  filled  him  with  fear  and 
perplexity.  Three  young  gentlemen  had  just  issued  from  a 
ride-path ;  one  of  them  was  Herr  von  Bruinkasteel.  It  was 
diflScult  to  say  whether  they  had  perceived  the  young  peasant 
Of  not ;  however  it  might  be,  they  did  not  look  at  him,  but 
struck  into  the  road  which  led  to  the  village. 

Charles  was  at  a  loss  what  to  do.  He  did  not  wish  to  enter 
into  conversation  with  the  Baron  yet,  for  he  felt  by  the  palpi- 
tation of  his  heart,  how  dangerous  it  would  be  for  him  if  his 
enemy  were  to  address  to  him  one  insolent  or  contemptuous 
word.  At  the  same  time,  he  could  not  remain  where  he  was, 
for  his  impatience  to  see  his  beloved,  and  embrace  his  mother^ 


MINE  HOST  6ANSEND0NCK.  til 

bore  him  too  powerfully  on.  After  short  congideration,  he 
quickly  came  to  a  resolution  ;  and  springing  upon  a  by-patb, 
he  ran  towards  the  village,  making  a  circuit  through  copses 
and  fields. 

Over  the  village  hang  the  slow  and  melancholy  tones  of 
the  bell  of  death.  In  the  churchyard  a  freshly-made  grave 
yawns  for  its  destined  occupant.  Every  tone  of  the  death- 
knell  is  repeated  in  the  expectant  grave.  It  is  as  if  a  hollow 
voice  rose  from  out  the  ground,  as  if  the  dark  earth,  full  of 
longing,  sighed,  "  Come,  come,  come  I "  The  animals  even 
seem  painfully  affected  by  the  solemn  call  of  death.  The 
dogs  are  howling,  and  the  oxen  at  intervals  reply  with  a  deep 
and  troubled  low ;  and  yet  a  profound  stillness  pervades  the 
whole  neighbourhood.  No  moving  object  is  visible,  save  a  few 
solitary  old  people,  who  here  and  there  may  be  seen,  prayer- 
book  in  hand,  tottering  like  dumb  shadows  towards  the 
church. 

Soon  after,  a  melancholy  procession  approaches.  But  how 
beautiful,  how  very  beautiful,  is  this  funeral  procession  to  the 
final  resting-place  I  Four  young  maidens  in  snow-white 
garments  bear  the  body  of  their  friend,  who  died  in  the  flower 
of  her  youth ;  other  maidens,  similarly  clothed,  walk  beside 
them,  to  take  the  dear  burden  on  their  shoulders  in  their  turn. 
Behind,  come  all  the  daughters  of  the  parish  with  flowers  or 
branches  of  consecrated  poplar  in  their  hands — even  the  little 
children  who  do  not  yet  know  what  "  to  die"  means.  Many 
are  in  tears,  and  all  walk  with  downcast  eyes,  and  mourn  the 
poor,  poor  Lisa,  who,  alas  I  has  expiated  where  she  surely 
was  not  guilty.  On  the  coffin  are  strewn  roses  and  lilies, 
emblems  of  virgin  purity.  They  emit  so  fresh  an  odour,  and 
look  so  lovely  on  the  white  pall  I  In  the  coflfin,  too,  there 
Um  a  flower,  a  lily,  which  the  gnawing  worm  of  sorrow  htm 


211  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

destroyed,  cold  and  pale,  a  sin-oSering,  a  saorifloe  to  pridt 

and  arrogance. 

Only  three  men  follow  close  to  the  corpse.  On  one  side 
Kobe,  on  the  other,  Sus  the  smith,  shedding  tears  of  sorrow. 
Between  them  they  sympathizingly  support  a  third,  who 
totters  feebly  along.  His  hands  cover  his  face  ;  through  his 
fingers,  the  hot  tears  force  their  way,  and  his  bosom  heaves 
visibly  with  painful  sobs.  Poor  Gansendonck  I  guilty  father  I 
Turn  not  thine  eye  on  that  bier  I  At  every  timid  glance, 
thou  art  conscience-stricken — is  it  not  so  ?  Thou  art  trem- 
bling with  grief  and  remorse — but  I  will  not  look  into  thy 
heart.  I  respect  thine  agony.  Forgetting  thy  ill-fated  pride, 
I  would  rather  weep  tears  of  sympathy  for  thy  present  anguish 
of  heart. — They  approach  the  field  of  the  dead  ;  and  yonder 
itands  the  priest  who  is  to  utter  the  last  prayer  over  the  corpse. 

But  what  is  this  which  fills  every  heart  with  astonishment 
and  terror  ?  Why  this  agonizing  cry  which  bursts  at  once 
from  every  breast?  What  dreadful  apparition  makes  the 
maidens  tremble  ?  0  God  I  yonder  is  Charles  I  He  stands 
for  a  moment  as  if  struck  by  lightning,  and  gazes  with  fixed, 
wild  stare  on  the  funeral  procession,  which  has  suddenly  come 
into  view.  He  understands  it  all.  His  hair  stands  on  end  ; 
he  hastens  on,  and  falls  down  beside  the  corpse,  which  the 
bearers  have  lowered  to  the  ground.  Violently  he  pushes 
the  maidens  aside,  pulls  off  the  pall,  and  lacerates  his  hands 
by  tearing  at  the  screws  of  the  coffin-lid.  He  will  open  the 
coffin  ;  he  calls  wildly  and  piteously  upon  his  Lisa  ;  he  cries, 
he  weeps,  he  laughs  by  turns  I  Some  men  advance  and  draw 
him  forcibly  away ;  but  now  another  sight  tears  fi-om  him  a 
cry  of  vengeance,  so  horrible,  so  desperate,  that  all  tremble 
and  recoil  at  the  wild  shriek.  What,  then,  has  his  wildered 
eye  beheld,  that,  sweeping  all  before  him  in  his  fury,  he 
daihes  headlong  on  some  object  with  a  cry  like  a  scream  of 


MINE  HOST  GANBENDOMCK.  S18 

agony  ?  Heavens  I  yonder,  at  the  window  of  a  tavem,  standi 
the  Baron  I 

Alas  I  alas  1  the  youth,  in  his  madness,  draws  a  knife  from 
his  pocket ;  it  glitters  hombly  in  the  sun.  In  a  moment  ne 
is  in  the  tavern  ;  he  is  about  to  commit  a  murder.  But  no  , 
be  stumbles  on  the  threshold,  and  falls  heavily  like  a  stone 
with  his  head  on  the  ground.  The  women  raise  their  arms,  and 
shriek,  and  tremble — but  Charles  does  not  rise  again  ;  he  lies 
motionless,  as  if  death  had  found  a  new  victim  in  him.  The 
Baron,  his  enemy,  is  the  first  at  his  side  ;  he  raises  the  young 
man  sympathizingly  from  the  ground.  In  his  heart,  too, 
penitence  and  remorse  are  at  work ;  from  within,  a  voice  calla 
to  him — "  Thy  wanton  levity  has  had  part  in  causing  the 
misery  which  now  rages  so  horribly  on  every  side  I" 

Kob^  runs  to  his  assistance,  and  they  place  the  youth  upon 
a  chair,  and  bathe  his  brow  and  breast  with  water ;  but  he 
continues  sitting  death-pale  and  motionless. 

Meanwhile  the  priest  is  uttering,  in  a  low  and  tremulous 
tone,  the  last  words  of  peace  over  a  grave,  and  the  dull  heavy 
fall  of  clods  upon  a  cofSn-lid  sounds  sadly  on  the  ear. 

Charles  has  revived.  The  Baron  tries  to  console  him. 
Kobe  speaks  to  him  of  his  mother.  But  the  young  man  knowi 
no  longer  either  friend  or  foe.  There  is  a  horrible  look  in 
his  eyes ;  he  laughs,  too,  and  appears  so  happy. — He  if  a 
maniaol 


Dear  reader !  if  you  should  ever  chance  to  go  through  the 
village  which  was  the  scene  of  this  sad  history,  you  will  see 
sitting  on  a  bench,  in  front  of  the  brewery,  two  men  playing 
together  as  if  both  were  yet  children.  The  younger  has  a 
li&leM  face,  though  the  wild-fire  of  insanity  glows  in  lili 


214  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE* 

eyes ;  the  other  is  an  older  man,  who  cares  for  his  nirfor- 
tnnate  with  loving  compassion,  and  endeavours  to  make  him 
happy  and  cheerful. 

Ask  the  attendant  the  cause  of  his  master's  misfortune; 
the  good  Kobe  will  tell  you  a  melancholy  tale,  and  point  out 
the  grave  where  Baas  Gansendonck  sleeps  his  last  sleep  by 
the  side  of  his  child ;  and  you  may  be  sure  he  will  close  hii 
narrative  with  some  proyerb  cr  maxim  of  world- wisdca^ 


BLIND  BOSi. 


Off  ft  beantifal  day  in  1846,  the  Diligence  rolled  m  nioal 
over  the  highway  between  Antwerp  and  Tnmhont.  The 
tramp  of  horses,  the  rattle  of  wheels,  the  creaking  of  the 
frame,  and  the  loud  voice  of  the  driver,  accompanied  its  on- 
ward progress.  The  dogs  barked  in  the  distance  as  it  passed, 
the  birds  rose  startled  from  the  fields,  and  the  shadow  of  the 
old  coach  danced  grotesquely  among  the  trees  and  hedges. 

Suddenly  the  coachman  pulled  up  not  far  from  a  lonely 
tavern.  Springing  from  his  seat,  he  opened  the  door  of  his 
vehicle,  and  without  saying  a  word,  proffered  his  hand  to  a 
traveller,  who  immediately  leapt  out  upon  the  highway,  car- 
rying a  leathern  travelling-bag  under  his  arm.  With  equal 
silence  the  coachman  put  up  the  steps,  shut  the  door,  and 
ascending  the  box,  drew  the  whip  gently  across  the  horses' 
backs,  as  a  sign  to  proceed  ;  and  the  clumsy  machine  rumbled 
on  in  its  own  spiritless  and  monotonous  way. 

Meanwhile  the  traveller  had  entered  the  tavern,  and  calling 
for  a  glass  of  beer,  sat  down  at  a  table.  He  was  a  man  of 
yeiy  high  stature,  and  appeared  to  be  about  fifty  years  of 


216  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIPB. 

age.  One  might  have  even  supposed  him  to  be  sixty,  had 
not  his  vigorous  bearing,  his  lively  eye,  and  the  youthful 
smile  upon  his  lips,  shown  that  his  heart  and  soul  were  much 
younger  than  his  face  would  have  indicated.  His  hair,  in- 
deed, was  gray,  his  brow  and  cheeks  furrowed,  and  his  whole 
countenance  expressed  that  waste  of  power  which  care  and 
toil  stamp  on  the  face  as  the  sign  of  premature  old  age.  And 
yet  one  could  see  that  his  chest  rose  and  fell  with  fulness  an-' 
life,  that  his  head  sat  erect  and  high,  and  his  sparkling  eyes 
expreased  the  energy  of  manhood. 

From  his  dress  one  would  have  inferred  that  he  was  a 
wealthy  citizen,  although  it  perhaps  would  not  have  attracted 
attention  at  all,  had  not  the  coat  been  buttoned  up  to  the 
chin — a  peculiarity  which,  when  taken  in  connexion  with  his 
great  meerschaum,  made  one  suspect  that  he  was  a  soldier 
or  a  German. 

The  people  of  the  house,  after  serving  the  traveller,  resumed 
their  work  without  paying  any  further  attention  to  him.  He 
saw  the  two  daughters  going  and  coming,  the  landlord  fetch 
wood  and  peat  for  the  fire,  the  mother  fill  the  kitchen-pot ; 
but  no  one  said  a  word  to  him,  although  his  eyes  followed 
every  one  as  if  he  desired  to  enter  into  conversation,  and  his 
sad  and  gentle  smile  seemed  to  say — "  Ah  I  do  you  not  know 
me,  then  ?" 

Suddenly  a  clock  struck.  This  sound  seemed  to  pain  him, 
for  an  expression  of  melancholy  surprise  passed  over  his  face, 
and  chased  the  smile  from  his  lips.  He  stood  up,  and  with  a 
disturbed  look,  gazed  at  the  clock  till  nine  strokes,  one  after 
the  other,  had  died  away  in  the  room.  The  house-mother 
had  observed  the  emotion  of  the  stranger,  and  advancing 
to  him,  she  also  looked  up  at  the  clock  with  a  wondering 
look,  as  if  she  expected  to  see  something  unusual  about  it, 
which  she  had  never  observed  before. 


BLIND  ROSA.  117 

"Tes,  sir,  it  sounds  prettily,  doesn't  it?"  she  said.  "It 
has  gone  for  twenty  years  so,  and  a  watchmaker  has  never 
laid  a  finger  on  it." 

"  Twenty  years,"  sighed  the  traveller ;  "  and  where  then  is 
the  clock  which  used  to  hang  here  before  ?  And  where  is  the 
pretty  image  of  the  Virgin  which  stood  there  dn  the  chimney- 
^iece?    Gone,  destroyed,  forgotten?" 

The  woman  looked  at  the  stranger  with  surprise,  and  an- 
swered— 

"  Our  Zanna  was  playing  with  the  image  one  day  when  a 
child,  and  broke  it.  It  was  so  very  badly  made,  at  any  rate, 
that  the  pastor  himself  had  told  us  to  buy  a  new  one ;  and 
there  it  stands  now.     Is  it  not  much  prettier?" 

The  traveller  shook  his  head. 

"  And  the  old  clock  you  will  hear  immediately,"  she  con- 
tinued. "  It  is  only  a  piece  of  lumber,  and  is  always  behind ;  it 
has  hung  for  an  age  in  our  cellar.   Listen,  it  is  striking  now ! " 

A  peculiar  noise  might  be  heard  proceeding  from  another 
part  of  the  house.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  bird,  which  cried 
"  Cuckoo,  cuckoo  "  for  nine  times  in  succession*  A  cheerful 
smile  at  once  lighted  up  the  stranger's  face ;  and  hastening, 
accompanied  by  the  hostess,  to  a  little  cellar,  he  gazed  with 
inexpressible  joy  at  the  old  clock,  as  the  cuckoo  concluded  its 
nine  times  repeated  song. 

Meanwhile,  both  the  daughters  of  the  family  approached 
the  traveller  fall  of  curiosity,  and  looked  at  him  with  wonder, 
turning  their  great  blue  questioning  eyes  alternately  on  him 
and  on  their  mother.  The  looks  of  the  two  girls  recalled 
the  stranger  to  himself;  and,  apparently  satisfied,  he  returned 
to  the  adjoining  ^ipartment,  still  followed  by  the  mother  and 
her  daughters,  all  wondering  at  this  mysterious  conduct. 

His  heart  was  evidently  gladdened  by  what  he  had  seen  j 
his  countenance  was  lighted  up  with  a  sweet  expression  of 


tl8  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

love  and  genial  feeling ;  and  his  eyes,  moist  with  emotion, 
iparkled  so  joyously,  that  both  the  girls  simultaneously  ap- 
proav^hed  him  with  visible  interest.  He  took  each  by  the 
hand,  and  said — 

"  What  I  do  seems  singular,  children,  does  it  not  ?  You 
cannot  understand,  I  daresay,  why  the  voice  of  the  old  cuckoo 
moves  me  so  deeply  ?  Ah !  I  too  was  once  a  child ;  and  in 
those  days  my  father  used  to  come  every  Sunday  after  church 
to  drink  his  pint  of  beer  in  this  very  room.  When  I  was  good, 
I  was  allowed  to  come  witli  him.  And  then  I  used  to  stand 
from  hour  to  hour,  waiting  till  the  dear  cuckoo  should  open  its 
little  door ;  I  danced  and  skipt  at  its  call,  and  in  my  childish 
soul  I  admired  the  poor  little  bird  as  an  incomprehensible 
masterpiece  of  art.  And  the  image  of  the  Virgin,  too,  which 
one  of  you  broke,  I  used  to  love,  because  it  wore  such  a  beauti- 
ful blue  mantle,  and  because  the  little  Jesus  in  her  arms  held 
out  his  little  hands  and  smiled  to  me.  The  child  of  those  days 
is  now  a  man  of  threescore  years ;  his  hair  is  gray,  and  his 
face  full  of  wrinkles.  Four-and-thirty  years  have  I  lived  in 
the  wilds  of  eastern  Eussia;  and  yet  I  still  remember  the 
image  and  the  cuckoo,  as  if  only  a  single  day  had  fled  since 
my  fa'her  last  brought  me  here." 

"Are  you,  then,  from  our  village?"  asked  Zanna. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  the  traveller  with  joy.  But  the  effect 
of  his  words  was  not  what  he  expected.  A  smile  played  for 
ft  moment  on  the  girls'  features,  but  that  was  all :  they  seemed 
leither  astonished  nor  overjoyed  at  his  declaration. 

"But  where  is  the  old  landlord,  Joostens?"  he  at  last  in- 
quired of  the  mother. 

**  John  the  landlord,  do  you  mean  ?  He  has  been  dead  for 
nore  than  five-and-twenty  years." 

"And  his  wife — ^the  good,  stout  Peetemelle?" 

"  Dead  too,"  was  the  reply. 


BLIND  ROSA.  S19 

"And  the  young  shepherd,  Andries,  who  could  make  such 
beautiful  baskets  ?  " 

"  Dead  too,"  replied  the  hostess. 

The  traveller  hung  his  head,  and  gave  himself  up  for  a 
time  to  melancholy  reflections.  Meanwhile,  the  woman  bo- 
took  herself  to  the  barn,  to  tell  her  husband  what  had  hap- 
pened with  this  unknown  visitor. 

The  farmer  now  entered  the  room  heavily,  and  with  the 
noise  of  his  wooden  shoes  roused  the  traveller  out  of  his  pain- 
ful reverie.  The  latter  rose,  and  hastened  to  him  with  out- 
stretched arms  and  a  cheerful  face,  as  if  he  would  fain  greet 
him  as  an  old  friend ;  but  the  farmer  took  his  hand  coldly, 
and  looked  at  him  with  indijBFerence. 

"  And  you,  too,  Peer  Joostens,"  he  exclaimed  sadly,  "  and 
you,  too,  do  not  recognise  me?" 

"  No  ;  I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  seen  you,  sir,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  you  do  not  know  him  who,  at  the  risk  of  his  life, 
dived  imder  the  ice  at  Torfmoor  to  rescue  you  from  certain 
death." 

The  fanner  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  traveller  seemed 
deeply  pained,  and  said  almost  imploringly — 

"  Have  you,  then,  forgotten  the  young  man  who  used  to 
take  your  part  among  your  companions,  and  bring  you  so 
many  bird's  eggs  to  adorn  your  May-wreath? — him  who 
taught  you  to  make  trumpets  and  whistles  of  the  meadow- 
reeds,  and  took  you  with  him  when  he  drove  Pauvel  the 
brickmaker's  son's  fine  cart  to  market?" 

"  I  have  forgotten,"  replied  the  farmer,  doubtingly.  "  But 
I  remember  that  my  father,  now  in  heaven,  used  to  tell  me 
that  when  I  was  six  years  old  I  was  nearly  drowned  in  the 
great  Torfmoor.  But  it  was  Long  John  who  pulled  me  out 
— and  who,  in  the  French  time  under  Napoleon,  was  carried 
oSf  with  many  others,  to  be  food  for  powder.     Who  knows  in 


220  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

what  unconsecrated  ground  his  corpse  is  lying  now  ?     May 
God  be  gracious  to  his  poor  soul  I" 

"  Ah  I  ah  I "  cried  the  stranger,  with  exultatien,  "  now  you 
know  me :  I  am  Long  John — or  rather,  John  Slaets,  of  High 
Dries." 

As  he  got  no  immediate  reply,  he  said  with  surprise— 

"  Do  you  not  remember  the  rifle-shooter  of  the  Muschen- 
guild? — him  who  for  four  leagues  round  was  famed  as  the 
best  rifleman  ?  who  had  no  equal  in  sureness  of  aim,  and  was 
envied  by  all  the  other  young  men  because  the  young  lasses 
looked  so  kindly  on  bun  ?  I  am  he,  John  Slaets,  of  High 
Dries  I" 

"  It  is  possible,"  replied  the  farmer  distrustfully ;  "  but  I 
do  not  know  you,  sir,  and  I  hope  you  will  not  take  it  ill. 
There  is  no  Muschen-guild  in  all  our  district ;  and  what  was 
formerly  the  shooting-ground  is  now  the  site  of  a  country 
house,  which  has  been  for  several  years  uninhabited,  for 
Mevrouw  is  now  dead." 

Discouraged  by  the  farmer's  coldness,  the  traveller  made 
no  further  attempt  to  recall  himself  to  his  recollection. 

"  In  the  village  dwell  many  of  my  friends,  who  cannot 
have  forgotten  me,"  he  said  quietly,  as  he  rose  and  prepared 
to  go.  "  You,  Peer  Joostens,  were  very  young  indeed  when 
all  that  happened ;  but  Pauvel  will  fall  on  my  neck  the  mo- 
ment he  sees  me,  I  am  quite  sure  of  that.  Does  he  still  dwell 
on  the  moor?" 

"  The  brickwork  is  long  since  burned  down,  and  the  clay- 
pits  filled  up.  The  finest  hay  in  the  whole  parish  grows  there 
now ;  it  is  the  rich  Tist's  pasture." 

"  And  where  is  Pauvel  ?" 

"  The  whole  family  were  unfortunate,  and  left  this  quarter 
altogether.  What  has  become  of  them  I  cannot  tell :  dead, 
without  doubt.    But  I  see,  sir,  you  are  talking  of  our  grand* 


BLIND  S08A.  SHX 

fktliers'  times,  and  it  will  be  a  difficult  matter  to  get  an  answer 
to  all  your  questions  unless  you  go  to  our  grave-digger.  He 
can  tell  over  on  his  fingers  everything  that  has  happened 
these  hundred  years  or  more." 

"  I  daresay,  farmer ;  Peer  John  must  now  be  ninety  years 
old  at  leaat." 

"  Peer  John  ?  That  is  not  our  grave-digger's  name :  he  ii 
called  Lauw  Stevens." 

A  smile  of  pleasure  overspread  the  traveller's  countenance. 

"  God  be  thanked,"  he  exclaimed,  "  that  He  has  spared  at 
least  one  of  my  old  comrades  I " 

"Was  Lauw,  then,  a  friend  of  yours,  sir?" 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  traveller,  shaking  his  head,  "  I  can 
scarcely  call  him,  for  there  was  a  perpetual  rivalry,  and 
sometimes  strife  between  us.  Love  affairs  were  at  the  bottom 
of  our  differences.  On  one  occasion,  I  well  remember,  when 
he  and  I  were  struggling,  I  threw  him  from  the  bridge  at 
Kalvermoor  into  the  stream  beneath,  and  he  was  nearly 
drowned ;  but  that  is  more  than  thirty  years  ago.  Lauw  will 
be  glad  to  see  me  again.  Well,  Farmer  Joostens,  give  me  your 
hand ;  I  hope  to  drink  many  a  can  of  beer  in  your  house  I" 

Taking  his  travelling-bag  under  his  arm,  he  left  the  tavern, 
striking  into  a  road  behind  it  which  ran  through  a  plantation 
of  young  pines.  Although  the  farmer's  reception  and  infor- 
mation were  not  very  cheering,  they  had  notwithstanding 
poured  some  consolation  and  joy  into  his  heart.  The  sweet 
odour  of  earlier  years  breathed  round  him ;  and  with  the  flood 
of  reminiscences  which  arose  in  his  soul  at  every  step,  he  felt 
as  if  bom  anew.  The  young  pine- wood,  it  is  true,  which 
surrounded  him  on  all  sides,  was  strange  to  him ;  for  on  this 
spot  a  lofty  fir- wood  had  stood,  whose  trees  bore  innumerable 
nestfl,  and  around  whose  borders  grew  the  wild  strawberry  in 
abundance.    The  wood  had  disappeared  like  the  people  of  the 


222  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

Tillage :  the  old  trees  had  died,  and  their  children  taken  theii 
place,  to  run  their  life-course  in  their  turn.  They  were 
strangers  to  the  traveller,  and  he  consequently  viewed  them 
with  indifference.  But  the  song  of  the  birds  which  resounded 
on  every  side  was  still  the  same ;  the  wailing  sough  of  the 
wind  as  it  stirred  the  pine-tops,  the  chirping  of  the  grass- 
hoppers, and  the  heath -breeze,  with  its  delicious  odours — all 
the  eternal  workings  of  nature  were  the  same  as  in  the  days 
of  his  childhood  and  youth.  Pleasing  thoughts  arose  in  the 
traveller's  mind ;  and  although  he  walked  on  with  serene  and 
happy  feelings,  he  never  raised  his  musing  eyes  from  the 
ground  till  he  had  left  the  pine-wood  behind  him.  Here 
fields  and  meadows  were  spread  out  before  him,  through 
which  flowed  a  beautiful  stream  in  pleasant  windings ;  behind, 
at  the  distance  of  about  a  mile,  the  pointed  church-steeple 
rose  among  the  trees,  with  its  gilded  cock  glittering  in  the 
Bunshine  like  a  day-star.  Still  farther  off,  the  windmill  lazily 
whirled  its  heavy  red  wings. 

Overcome  by  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  and  the  memories  it 
suggested,  the  traveller  paused.  His  eyes  became  moist,  he 
let  his  travelling-bag  fall  on  the  ground,  and  spread  out  his 
arms,  while  the  expression  of  a  deep  and  fervent  joy  beamed 
upon  his  countenance. 

At  this  moment  the  prayer-bell  pealed  forth  the  Angelus, 

The  traveller  knelt  down,  and  bending  his  head  upon  his 
breast,  remained  motionless  in  this  attitude  for  a  time,  pro- 
longing his  devotion,  though  visibly  agitated  and  trembling. 
An  earnest  prayer  streamed  from  his  heart  and  lips,  while  he 
raised  his  eyes  and  folded  hands  to  heaven,  full  of  passionate 
gratitude.  Then  picking  up  his  travelling-bag,  he  hastened 
impatiently  on.  Gazing  at  the  church-steeple,  he  said  in  a 
Vow  tone — 

**Toa  at  least  are  not  altered,  humble  little  church,  whew 


BUND  BOf  A.  S9i 

I  was  baptized — where,  at  my  first  comnmnion,  everything 
was  so  joyful,  so  wondrous,  so  beautiful,  and  holy  I  Ah  I  I 
shall  see  it  once  more,  that  image  of  the  holy  Mary,  with  its 
golden  robe  and  its  silver  crown ;  St.  Anthony,  with  his 
pretty  little  pig,  and  the  black  devil  with  his  red  tongue,  of 
which  I  used  to  dream  so  often !  And  the  organ,  on  which 
Bus  the  clerk  used  to  play  so  beautifully,  while  we  sang  with 
loud  and  earnest  voices — 

'  Ave  Maria, 
Gratis  plena!" 

The  traveller  sang  these  last  words  with  a  loud  voice.  The 
associations  which  it  suggested  must  have  affected  him  deeply, 
for  a  glistening  tear  rolled  down  his  cheek.  Silently  he  moved 
on,  sunk  in  self-forgetfulness,  till  he  had  reached  a  little  bridge 
which  led  across  the  stream  to  a  marshy  meadow. 

An  indescribable  smile  now  lighted  up  his  countenance,  af 
if  his  whole  soul  beamed  there. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  with  emotion,  "  I  first  took  Eosa's  hand 
in  mine.  Here  our  eyes  first  made  that  mutual  confession  which 
reveals  heaven  to  the  young  and  ardent,  but  yet  trembling, 
heart.  The  yellow  water-lilies  sparkled  in  the  sunshine  then  as 
now ;  the  frogs  croaked  merrily,  and  the  larks  sang  overhead." 

Crossing  the  bridge,  he  stepped  upon  the  heath. 

"  Ah,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  even  the  little  frogs  which  saw , 
our  love  are  dead — the  flowers  are  dead,  the  larks  are  dead  I 
Their  children  now  greet  the  gray-haired  man,  who  returns 
among  them  like  a  spectre  from  the  past.  And  Kosa,  my 
dear  Rosa  I  does  she  still  live  ?  Perhaps  1  Married,  it  may  be, 
and  surrounded  by  her  children.  Those  who  are  left  behind 
forget,  alas  1  the  unhappy  brother  who  roams  far  from  his 
borne  I" 

A  serene  and  cheerful  smile  played  round  his  lips. 

** Poor  pilgrim  I"  he  sighed,  "  there  boiled  up  in  thy  bosoa 


294  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

just  then  a  feeling  of  jealousy,  as  if  it  were  still  spring-time  ht 
thy  old  heart  1  The  season  of  love  is  long  since  past  for  thee. 
Well,  it  matters  not,  if  only  she  recognises  me,  and  has  not 
quite  forgotten  our  ardent  attachment.  0  God  I  then  I  shall  no 
longer  lament  my  long  journey  of  eight  thousand  miles ;  and 
shall  go,  half  consoled,  to  join  my  parents  and  friends  in  the 
grave  I " 

Not  far  from  the  village,  he  entered  a  little  tavern,  of  the 
sign  of  the  "  Plough,"  and  asked  the  landlady  to  fetch  him  a 
glass  of  beer.  On  the  hearth,  by  a  gi-eat  pot,  sat  a  very 
aged  man,  who  stared  into  the  fire  like  an  image  of  stone. 
Before  the  woman  had  returned  with  the  beer,  the  traveller 
had  recognised  him,  and,  sitting  down  beside  him,  took  hii 
hand. 

"  God  be  praised,  that  He  has  granted  you  so  long  a  life. 
Father  Joris.  You  are  one  who  belonged  to  the  good  old 
times !  Do  you  not  know  me,  then  ?  No  I  The  wild  boy 
who  used  to  creep  through  your  hedge,  and  eat  your  apples 
before  they  were  ripe  ?" 

"  Six-and-ninety  years  1"  muttered  the  old  man,  withotrt 
stirring. 

"  So  it  is,"  sighed  the  traveller.  "  But  tell  me,  Father 
Joris,  is  Eosa,  the  wheelwright's  daughter,  still  alive  ?" 

"  Six-and-ninety  years  I "  hummed  the  old  man,  with  a  hol- 
low voice. 

Tlie  woman  reappeared  with  the  beer. 

"  He  is  blind  and  deaf,  sir,"  she  said.  "  Do  not  speak  to 
him ;  he  does  not  understand  a  word." 

"Blind  and  deaf  I"  muttered  the  stranger  despairingly; 
"what  devastation  inexorable  time  spreads  in  thirty  years! 
Heavens  I  I  wander  here  amid  the  ruins  of  a  whole  generation 
of  men  I" 

"  Did  yon  ask  after  Bosa«  the  wheelwright's  daughter  ?" 


njMD  BOSA.  22ft 

resijned  the  woman.  "  Our  wheelwright  had  five  daughter*, 
but  there  was  no  Rosa  among  them ;  for  the  oldest  is  called 
Beth,  and  is  married  to  the  postman ;  the  second  is  Gonde, 
who  is  a  milliner ;  the  third  is  called  Nel6 ;  and  the  girl, 
Anneken ;  and  as  for  the  little  child,  it  is  rather  silly,  poor 
thing  I" 

"  But  I  do  not  refer  to  these  people  at  all,"  said  the  traveller 
with  impatience.     "  I  speak  of  Kob  Meulincz's  family." 

"  Oh,  they  are  all  dead,  long  ago,  sir,"  was  the  woman's 
reply. 

This  was  a  severe  blow  to  the  traveller ;  and,  much  agitated, 
he  rose,  and  left  the  tavern  with  feverish  haste.  Before  the 
door,  he  struck  his  hand  upon  his  brow,  and  exclaimed,  de- 
spairingly— 

"  0  Gt)d  1  she  too !  My  poor  Rosa  dead  I  Always,  always 
chat  inexorable  word  *  dead  I '  *  dead  I  *  Nobody  on  this 
earth  knows  me  again.  Not  one  looks  on  me  with  the  eye 
of  a  friend!" 

Tottering  like  a  drunken  man,  he  turned  towards  a  pine- 
copse,  and  stood  there  quite  unmanned  by  his  grief,  leaning 
his  head  on  a  tree.  When  his  agitation  was  partially  allayed, 
he  went  slowly  towards  the  village.  The  path  led  by  a  soli- 
tary churchyard;  pausing  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  he  un- 
covered his  head,  and  said,  in  a  low  and  solemn  voice — 

**  Here,  before  the  image  of  the  Saviour  on  the  cross,  Rosa 
plighted  her  troth  to  me ;  here  she  promised  to  remain  ever 
true,  and  wait  till  I  should  return  to  my  native  village.  We 
were  overpowered  by  our  sorrow ;  this  bench  was  wet  with 
our  tears ;  and,  quite  mad  with  grief,  she  received  from  my 
hand  the  little  golden  cross — the  love-pledge  which  I  have  so 
dearly  redeemed.  Poor  friend  I  perhaps  I  am  now  standing 
on  thy  gravel" 

With  these  melancholy  thoughts,  he  sat  down  desponding 


926  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFS. 

on  the  kneeling  bench,  and  remained  there  for  a  long  time, 
unconscious  of  everything  around  him.  Slowly,  at  last,  he 
tamed  his  head,  and  gazed  at  the  churchyard,  where  littlo 
hillocks  indicated  the  most  recent  graves.  It  grieved  him  to 
see  the  many  wooden  crosses  which  had  fallen  through  ag« ; 
and  which  no  child's  hand  had  thought  of  raising  up  agam 
over  a  father  or  a  mother's  resting-place.  His  parents,  too, 
slept  here  ;  but  who  could  help  him  to  find  their  graves  ? 

So  mused  he,  long,  sadly,  and  despondingly ;  mysterious, 
impenetrable  eternity  pressed  upon  his  soul  like  a  leadeA 
tombstone,  when  suddenly  a  man's  footsteps  startled  him  out 
of  his  despairing  thoughts. 

Along  by  the  side  of  the  churchyard  wall  crept  the  old 
grave-digger,  spade  on  shoulder.  He  bcre^  .ne  unmistakable 
marks  of  age  and  poverty ;  his  back  was  bent  by  perpetual 
toil ;  his  hair  was  white,  and  his  face  all  covered  with  deep 
wrinkles ;  but  strength  and  energy  still  lived  in  his  eye.  The 
traveller  recognised  his  rival,  Lauw,  at  first  sight,  and  was 
about  to  hasten  forward  to  greet  him.  But  the  bitter  disap- 
pointments which  he  had  already  met  with  deterred  him,  and 
he  resolved  to  say  nothing,  but  wait  to  see  whether  Lauw 
recognised  him. 

The  grave-digger  paused  a  few  paces  off,  and,  after  he  had 
looked  at  him  with  apparent  indifference,  he  began  to  mark 
off  a  long  quadrangle,  the  limits  of  a  new  grave.  Now  and 
then,  however,  he  cast  a  side  look  on  the  stranger,  who  sat 
before  him  on  the  bench,  and  a  selfish  and  invidious  kind  of 
jatisfaction  seemed  to  sparkle  in  his  eyes.  The  traveller,  de- 
ceived by  the  expression  which  had  suddenly  passed  over  the 
grave-digger's  countenance,  felt  his  heart  throb  with  the  ex- 
pectation that  Lauw  would  approach  and  address  him  by  his 
name. 

The  grave-digger  looked  at  him  again  for  a  moment  lEeeaJj, 


BUND  BOfA.  SS7 

then  feeling  in  the  pocket  of  his  tattered  waistcoat,  pulled  out 
an  old  book  bound  in  divij  parchment,  to  which  a  pencil  was 
attached  by  a  leathern  thong.  Turning  round,  he  seemed  to 
note  down  something  on  one  of  the  leaves.  This  act,  taken 
in  connexion  with  the  exulting  expression  of  his  countenance, 
iurprised  the  trareller  so  much  that  he  went  up  to  the  grave- 
digger,  and  said  with  curiosity — 

"  What  were  you  writing  in  the  little  book  just  now?" 

"  That  is  my  affair,"  replied  Lauw  Stevens,  gruffly.  "  Yon 
hare  stood  a  terribly  long  time  on  my  list ;  I  was  making  a 
cross  at  your  name." 

"You  recognise  me,  then?"  exclaimed  the  stranger  joy- 
fally. 

"  Recognise  I"  said  the  grave-digger  in  a  bitter  and  mocking 
tone  ;  "  I  don't  know  that ;  but  I  remember  well,  just  as  if  it 
had  happened  yesterday,  that  an  envious  villain  once  threw  me 
into  the  river  and  nearly  drowned  me,  because  I  was  loved  by 
Resa  the  wheelwright's  daughter,  Since  then,  many  an  Easter 
candle  has  been  burnt ;  but" — 

"You  were  loved  by  Rosa  I"  interrupted  the  stranger. 
"  It  is  not  true,  I  tell  you." 

"Ah,  you  knew  it  well  enough,  spiteful  fellow  that  yon 
were  1  Had  she  not  for  a  whole  year  worn  the  silver  conse- 
crated ring  which  I  had  brought  with  me  from  Scherpenheu- 
vel  ?  And  did  you  not  tear  the  ring  forcibly  from  her,  and 
throw  it  into  the  water?" 

A  sad  smile  passed  over  the  traveller's  countenance. 

"  Lauw  1  Lauw  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  we  do  wrong ;  memory 
makes  us  children  again.  Believe  me,  Rosa  did  not  love  yon, 
as  you  suppose  ;  she  took  your  ring  only  out  of  friendship,  and 
because  it  was  consecrated.  In  my  youth,  I  was  rough  and 
rude,  I  fear,  and  did  not  always  act  nobly  to  my  comradea. 
Bat  ihall  four-and-thirty  years  have  passed  so  defstraotivelj 


938  ¥AUI  OF  ITJSMISH  UFS. 

OTer  men  and  tlings,  and  left  nothing  but  our  wretehed 
passions  unchanged?  Ah,  Lauw,  shall  the  only  man  who 
recognises  me  be  my  enemy — and  will  he  continue  my  enemy 
■till  ?  Come,  give  me  your  hand ;  let  ns  be  friends.  I  will 
make  you  happy  for  the  remainder  of  your  life." 

The  grave-digger  withdrew  his  hand  sharply,  and  said,  in  a 
gloomy  and  surly  tone — 

"Forget!  I  forget  you?  It  is  too  late  I  You  have 
poisoned  my  life.  No  day  passes  but  I  think  of  you ;  and  do 
I  think  of  you  to  bless  your  name,  do  you  suppose?  You 
yourself  may  determine  that — you  who  have  been  the  cause 
of  my  misery." 

Folding  his  trembling  hands,  the  traveller  raised  his  eyei 
to  heaven,  and  exclaimed  in  despair — 

"  God  1  God  I  hate  alone  knows  me  1 — ^hate  alone  does  not 
forget  me  I" 

"  You  have  done  well,"  resumed  the  grave-digger,  laughing, 
"  in  coming  here  to  lie  beside  your  blessed  parents.  I  have 
kept  a  capital  grave  for  you ;  I  will  lay  the  proud  Long  John 
under  the  roof-ledge,  where  the  rain-water  may  get  at  him, 
and  wash  all  the  malice  and  villany  out  of  his  corpse." 

A  sudden  trembling  shook  the  traveller  from  head  to  foot, 
and  a  lightning-flash  of  indignation  and  wrath  shot  from  his 
eyes.  This  violent  excitement,  however,  quickly  gave  way 
to  a  feeling  of  dejection  and  pity. 

"  You  deny  your  hand  to  a  brother,"  he  said,  "  who  returns 
to  the  home  of  his  youth,  after  an  absence  of  four-and-thirty 
years !  The  first  greeting  which  you  address  to  your  old  com- 
rade is  bitter  mockery  I  0  Lauw,  this  is  not  right ;  still, 
be  it  so ;  let  us  say  no  more  about  it ;  only  tell  me  where  my 
blessed  parents  lie  buried." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  grave-digger  surlily.  "  It  is  mort? 
than  fire-and-twenty  yean  since  they  were  brought  here  ;  and 


BLIND  B08A.  339 

I  nave  dng  frosh  graves  on  the  same  spot  three  times  sinoo 
then." 

There  was  something  more  than  ordinarily  painful  to  the 
traveller  in  these  words ;  powerless,  he  let  his  head  sink  on 
his  hreast,  while  he  stared  intently  on  the  ground,  quite  over- 
whelmed hy  his  sorrow. 

The  grave-digger  resumed  his  labour,  hut  with  an  unsteady 
and  hesitating  hand,  as  if  some  deeper  feeling  were  now  at 
work  within  him.  He  looked  and  beheld  the  stranger's 
anguish,  and  seemed  inwardly  shocked  at  the  secret  and 
long-cherished  revenge  which  had  actuated  his  conduct,  and 
impelled  him  to  torture  his  fellow-man  so  mercilessly.  This 
change  of  feeling  was  visible  upon  his  countenance ;  the 
contemptuous  smile  had  vanished,  and  he  looked  at  his  mourn- 
ing comrade  with  rising  sympathy.  He  then  slowly  ap- 
proached him,  and,  taking  his  hand,  said,  in  a  low  but 
impressive  voice — 

"  John,  friend,  forgive  what  I  have  said  and  done  I  I  have 
acted  cruelly  and  maliciously.  But,  John,  you  do  not  know 
how  much  I  have  suffered  through  you." 

"  Lauw  I "  exclaimed  the  other,  grasping  his  hand  with  emo- 
tion ;  "  those  were  errors  of  our  youth  I  And  see  how  little 
I  calculated  on  your  hostility :  your  very  naming  me  was  it- 
self an  inexpressible  joy  to  me.  I  am  still  grateful  to  you  for 
that,  though  you  have  torn  my  heart  by  your  bitter  mockery. 
And  now  tell  me  where  Bosa  lies  buried  ?  In  heaven  she  will 
rejoice  to  see  us  reconciled,  and  standing  like  brothers  beside 
her  last  resting-place  1" 

"  Buried ! "  exclaimed  the  grave-digger.  "  God  grant  that 
she  were  buried,  poor  thing  I " 

"What?  what  do  you  mean  to  say?"  cried  the  traveller. 
"Is  Bosa  still  alive?" 

**  Yes,  she  lives,  if  her  heavy  lot  is  worthy  the  name  of  lift." 


ISO  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

"You  make  me  tremble.     For  Gkxi's  sake,  fpeaki 

misfortune  has  "befallen  her?" 

"  She  is  blind." 

"  Blind  ?  Rosa  blind  I  She  has  no  eyes  with  which  to  look 
on  me  again  I     Alas,  alas  1 " 

Overcome  by  grief,  he  tottered  back  to  the  bench,  and  sank 
down  upon  it.     The  grave-digger  approached  him. 

"  For  ten  years  she  has  been  blind,"  he  said,  "  and  begs 
her  daily  bread.  I  give  her  twopence  every  week ;  and  when 
we  bake,  there  is  always  a  little  loaf  set  apart  for  her  besides." 

The  traveller  sprang  up,  and  warmly  pressing  the  grave- 
digger's  hand,  exclaimed — 

"  Thanks,  thanks !  God  bless  you  for  your  kindness  to  her  1 
I  will  tak«  it  on  myself  to  reward  you  in  His  holy  name.  I 
am  rich,  very  rich.  To-day  we  shall  meet  again ;  but  now, 
without  losing  a  moment,  tell  me  where  she  lives;  every 
minute  is  another  minute  of  misery  to  her." 

With  these  words  he  drew  the  grave-digger  by  the  hand 
towards  the  gate  of  the  churchyard.  From  the  wall  Lauw 
pointed  with  his  finger  to  an  object  in  the  distance-^ 

"  Do  you  see  the  smoke  rising  from  yonder  little  chimney 
behind  the  copse  ?  There  is  the  hut  of  the  broom-maker, 
Nelis  Oems,  and  there  Rosa  lives ! " 

Without  waiting  for  further  directions,  the  traveller  hast 
ened  in  the  direction  pointed  out,  and  passing  through  the 
village,  soon  reached  the  solitary  dwelling. 

It  was  an  humble  hut,  built  of  dry  twigs  and  mud,  but 
clean  outside  and  carefully  white-washed.  Not  far  from  the 
door  lay  four  little  children  sprawling  on  the  gi'ound  in  the 
warm  sun,  or  making  wreaths  of  the  blue  corn-flowers  and  red 
poppies.  They  were  barefoot  and  half-naked ;  the  eldest,  a 
little  boy  of  six,  wore  nothing  but  a  linen  shirt.  While  the 
three  little  sisters  looked  at  the  unknown  visitor  with  shyneM 


WUSD  BOSA.  931 

and  timidity,  this  little  fellow,  on  the  contrary,  gazed  at  him 
with  a  certain  surprise  and  interest,  mingled  with  an  open- 
hearted  ingennousness.  The  traveller  laughed  kindly  to  the 
child,  hut,  without  stopping,  entered  the  hut,  where  he  found 
the  father  husy  with  his  hrooms  in  a  comer,  and  the  mother 
with  her  wheel  hy  the  hearth. 

These  people  seemed  to  he  ahout  thirty  years  of  age,  and 
appeared  quite  contented  with  their  lot.  For  the  rest,  every- 
thing ahout  them  was  as  clean  as  rustic  life  would  admit  of  in 
a  dwelling  so  confined.  His  entrance  surprised  them  very  little, 
and  they  at  once  greeted  him  politely  and  put  themselves  at 
his  service,  thinking  that  he  wished  to  inquire  the  way; 
and  the  hushand,  indeed,  had  already  sprung  from  his  seat  to 
accompany  him  to  the  door,  and  point  it  out.  When  he,  how- 
ever, said  with  manifest  agitation  and  impatience,  "  Does  Eosa 
Meulincz  dwell  here?"  the  hushand  and  wife  exchanged  a 
strange  look,  and  were  so  taken  hy  surprise,  that  they 
scarcely  knew  what  to  reply. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  man  at  last,  "  Kosa  dwells  here ;  hut 
ghe  is  gone  on  her  hegging  rounds.  Do  you  wish  to  speak 
with  her?" 

"  0  God  I  where  is  she  ?    Can  she  not  he  got  at  once  ?' 

"It  would  he  difficult,  sir;  she  is  gone  on  her  weekly 
rounds  with  our  Trieny ;  hut  she  will  he  home  in  an  hour  for 
certain." 

"  May  I  wait  here,  then?"  asked  the  traveller. 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  these  words,  when  the  man  hastened 
into  a  side-room  and  brought  out  a  chair,  which,  though 
roughly  and  coarsely  made,  was  yet  considerably  cleaner  than 
the  lame  old  chairs  which  stood  in  the  room.  Not  content 
with  that,  the  woman  drew  a  white  cloth  out  of  a  chest,  and 
spreading  it  over  the  chair,  requested  the  stranger  to  he  seated. 
He  waa  delighted  with  this  simple  and  honest  kindness,  and 


289  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE* 

returning  the  cloth  with  many  thanks,  he  sat  down.  He 
then  looked  attentively  about  the  room,  hoping  to  find  some 
tokens  of  Rosa's  having  been  there.  When  looking  to  one 
side  in  search  of  some  objects  of  this  kind,  he  suddenly 
felt  a  little  hand  gently  laid  on  his,  and  softly  stroking  hig 
fingers.  Surprised  by  this  proof  of  afiection,  he  turned  round, 
and  saw  the  blue  eyes  of  the  little  boy  gazing  earnestly  up  at 
him  with  a  beautiful  smile  of  confidence  and  love,  as  if  he  had 
been  his  father  or  elder  brother. 

"  Come  here,  little  Peter ! "  exclaimed  the  mother.  "  You 
must  not  h&  so  forward,  child  I " 

Little  Peter,  meanwhile,  seemed  not  to  have  heard  this  ad- 
monition, for  he  still  continued  to  gaze  at  the  unknown  visitor, 
and  to  stroke  his  hands  as  before,  so  that  the  latter  did  not 
know  what  to  make  of  it,  so  inexplicable  was  the  interest 
which  the  child  seemed  to  have  in  him. 

"  My  dear  little  child,"  he  sighed,  "  how  beautiful  your 
Dine  eyes  are:  you  touch  my  heart  deeply  I  Come,  I  will 
give  you  something,  you  are  such  a  dear  little  fellow  I " 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  little  gold  purse,  ornamented 
with  silver  and  jewels  of  various  colours — shook  out  some 
small  coins,  and  gave  them  to  the  child,  who  stared  at  the 
present  with  astonishment,  but  did  not,  for  all  that,  quit  hia 
hold  of  the  traveller's  hand.  The  mother  now  rose,  and  com- 
ing up  to  the  child,  said  reprovingly — 

"  Peerken,  Peerken,  you  must  not  be  unpolite ;  thank  the 
gentleman,  and  kiss  his  hand." 

The  little  boy  kissed  his  hand,  nodded  his  little  head,  and 
with  a  clear  voice  said — 

**  Thank  you,  sir.  Long  Johnl" 

A  thunder-stroke  could  not  have  shook  the  traveller  mor« 
powerfully  than  the  simple  utterance  of  his  name  by  this  inno- 
tent  child.    Tears  rolled  involuntarily  over  his  cheeks ;  bt 


ML       soil..  SS3 

took  the  child  apon  his  knee,  and  looked  deep  into  hiB  eyef 
while  he  exclaimed — 

"  0  you  little  angel  1  Do  yon  then  know  me  ? — me,  whom 
yon  have  never  seen?    Who  tanght  yon  my  name?" 

"  Blind  Rosa,"  was  the  reply. 

"  But  how  is  it  possible  that  yon  should  have  known  me  ? 
or  was  it  God  himself  who  inspired  your  child's  soul  ?" 

"  Oh  I  I  knew  you  at  once,"  said  Peerken.  "  When  I  lead 
Rosa  about,  as  she  goes  her  begging  rounds,  she  always  talks 
of  you ;  and  she  says  that  you  are,  oh  so  big  I  amd  that  you 
have  black  eyes  that  sparkle ;  and  she  said  that  you  would 
come  home  one  day,  and  bring  us  all  such  beautiful  things. 
And  I  was  not  afraid  of  you,  sir,  for  Rosa  told  me  that  I  was 
to  be  sure  to  love  you,  and  that  you  would  bring  me  a  great 
bow  and  arrow." 

The  traveller  listened  earnestly  to  the  sweet  and  simple 
revelations  of  the  boy.  Suddenly  he  took  him  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  him  warmly  ;  and  then  said  in  a  cheerful  tone— 

"  Father,  mother,  this  child  is  from  this  time  wealthy.  I 
will  train  him,  educate  him,  and  endow  him  richly.  His 
recognising  me  shall  be  the  making  of  his  fortune  on 
earth." 

The  parents  were  quite  overwhelmed  with  wonder  and  joy ; 
and  the  man  was  scarcely  able  to  stammer  a  reply — 

"  Ah  I  it  is  far  too  good  of  you.  We  knew  you  at  once, 
but  we  could  not  be  quite  sure.  Rosa  has  told  us  that  you 
are  a  rich  gentleman." 

"And  you,  too,  good  people  I  you  know  me!"  cried  the 
traveller.  "  I  am  among  friends  here ;  I  find  a  family  and 
a  relationship,  where  hitherto  I  have  been  met  by  nothing 
but  death  and  forgetfulness." 

The  woman  pointed  to  an  image  of  the  Virgin  on  the  table, 
•11  blackened  by  smoke,  and  said — 


9^84  TiJJEB  OF  riiEMIBH  UFK. 

**  Every  Sunday  evening  a  candle  is  lighted  there  for  the 
return,  or  ....  the  soul  of  John  Slaets  1" 

The  stranger  raised  his  eyes  devoutly  to  heaven,  and  fer- 
vently exclaimed — 

"  0  God  !  blessed  be  Thy  name,  that  Thou  hast  made  love 
mightier  than  hate  I  My  enemy  has  cherished  my  name  in 
his  heart,  recalling  it  daily  only  to  curse  it ;  but  while  my 
friend  has  lived  in  my  memory,  and  breathed  the  love  I  felt 
for  her  on  everything  around  me,  she,  too,  has  here  preserved 
the  memory  of  me,  and  made  other  hearts  love  me — while 
I  was  eight  thousand  miles  away.  I  thank  Thee,  0  God  I 
Thou  art  kind  indeed  I " 

A  long  silence  reigned  till  John  Slaets  had  regained  his 
calmness ;  the  people  of  the  house  observed  his  emotion,  and 
the  husband  had  considerately  resumed  his  work,  only  looking 
up  from  time  to  time  that  he  might  be  ready  to  run  to  serve 
the  stranger,  if  any  occasion  arose. 

The  latter  had  now  taken  Peerken  on  his  knee  again,  and 
Baid — 

"  Mother,  has  Kosa  lived  long  with  you?" 

The  mother  prepared  herself  to  give  him  the  beginning 
and  the  end,  and  the  short  and  the  long  of  the  whole  matter, 
and  moving  her  spinning-wheel  to  his  side,  she  sat  down,  and 
began — 

"  I  will  tell  you,  sir,  how  it  has  come  about.  You  must 
know  that  when  old  Meulincz  died,  the  children  divided  what 
he  left  among  themselves ;  and  Eosa,  who  would  not  have 
married  for  all  the  money  in  the  world — I  need  not  tell  you 
why — made  over  her  share  to  her  brother,  on  the  condition 
that  he  should  maintain  her  during  her  life.  In  addition  to 
this,  she  was  a  dressmaker,  and  earned  a  considerable  gum 
in  this  way,  but  did  not  give  it  to  her  brother.  She  de- 
voted all  her  earnings  to  good  works,  visited  the  sick,  and. 


BLINDBOfiL.  SU 

wlieii  tho  people  were  very  poor,  paid  the  doctor  to  attend 
them.  She  had  always  a  word  of  comfort  for  everybody,  and 
some  reviving  cordial  in  her  pocket  for  those  who  were  very 
weak.  It  so  happened  that  my  husband — we  had  been  only 
half  a  year  married  then — came  home  one  day  with  a  dread- 
ful cold  ;  listen — he  has  had  that  cough  ever  since.  Next  to 
God,  we  have  to  thank  the  good  Eosa  that  my  dear  Nelis 
does  not  lie  in  his  grave.  Ah,  sir,  if  vou  had  but  sppu  what 
she  did  for  us  out  of  pure  love  and  kindness  I  She  brouffbt 
warm  coverings — for  it  was  cold,  and  we  were  very  poor.  She 
fetched  two  doctors  from  other  parishes  to  consult  together 
about  our  Nelis ;  she  watched  by  my  husband's  bedside,  she 
ightened  his  sufferings  and  my  grief  with  her  kind,  lovmg 
words,  and  gave  us  all  the  money  we  required  to  pay  tor 
medicine  and  food — for  Rosa  was  beloved  everywhere ;  and 
when  she  went  to  Mevrouw  Hall,  or  to  the  wealthy  farmers 
about,  a  small  gift  for  the  poor  was  never  refused  her.  And, 
sir,  our  Nelis  lay  sick  in  bed  for  six  long  weeks,  and  all  that 
time  Rosa  took  care  of  us,  and  helped  us  through,  till  my 
husband,  by  degrees,  picked  up  his  strength  again,  and  was 
able  to  work." 

**  How  you  must  have  loved  the  poor  blind  Rosa  I "  sighed 
the  traveller. 

The  man  raised  his  head  for  a  moment  from  his  work,  and 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  exclaimed  with  ardour — 

**  Could  my  blood  restore  her  sight,  I  would  let  it  be  drained 
to  the  last  drop." 

This  fervent  utterance  of  gratitude  made  a  deep  impression 
on  John  Slaets.  The  woman  perceived  this,  and  giving  her 
husband  an  admonitory  nod  to  be  silent,  she  continued — 

"  Three  months  after,  God  sent  us  a  child — it  sits  on  your 
knee.  Rosa,  who  knew  long  before  of  its  coming,  wished 
to  b«  it!  godmother,  and  Peer,  my  husband^s  brother,  wai  to 


n$  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

be  godfather.  On  the  christening-day,  there  \^a8  some  ooa- 
rersation  about  the  name  which  should  be  given  to  the  child. 
Rosa  begged  us  to  call  the  child  John,  but  the  godfather — a 
good  man,  but  rather  obstinate,  wished,  and  there  was  nothing 
to  object  to  it,  that  it  should  be  called  Peter  after  him.  And 
so,  after  a  long  discussion,  it  was  baptized  John-Peter ;  and 
we  call  him  Peerken,  because  his  godfather — to  whom  he 
belongs  more  than  to  Kosa,  being  a  boy — will  have  it  so,  and 
would  be  offended  if  we  did  not  do  it.  But  Kosa  will  not 
hear  of  Peerken — she  will  call  the  child  nothing  but  Johnny ; 
and  the  little  fellow  is  accustomed  to  it  already,  and  knows 
thai  he  is  called  Johnny,  because  it  is  your  name,  sir." 

The  traveller  pressed  the  child  passionately  to  his  breast, 
And  kissed  him  warmly.  Silently  musing,  he  gazed  intently 
At  the  boy's  laughing  countenance,  while  his  heart  melted 
with  a  sweet  sadness.     The  woman  continued — 

"  Rosa's  brother  had  made  an  arrangement  with  some 
people  in  Antwerp,  to  buy  up  victuals  of  every  kind,  in  all 
the  places  about,  to  send  to  England.  He  would  soon  grow 
rich  with  this  trade,  people  said,  for  every  week  he  took  ten 
carts  full  of  provisions  to  Antwerp.  At  first,  all  went  well ; 
but  suddenly  some  one  failed  in  Antwerp,  and  the  unfortunate 
Tist  Meulincz,  who  had  been  security,  was  ruined,  and  was 
made  so  very  poor  by  it,  that  all  his  goods  were  not  enough 
by  half  to  p?*y  his  debts.  He  was  not  able  to  bear  up  under 
it  all,  and  died,  poor  fellow  !  may  our  Lord  receive  his  soul  I 
— Rosa  then  went  to  live  in  a  little  room  at  Nand  Flinck's, 
in  the  comer  yonder ;  but  in  the  same  year,  Karel,  Nand's 
son,  who  had  been  taken  for  a  soldier,  came  home  with  in- 
flamed eyes.  He  had  not  been  a  fortnight  at  home,  when  he 
lost  his  sight  altogether.  Rosa,  who  had  felt  great  pity  for 
him,  and  always  did  what  her  kind  heart  bade  her,  had  nursed 
biro  during  his  illness,  and  now  used  to  lead  him  about  to 


■UHD  BOSA.  S37 

ke€f^  up  his  BpiritB,  and  refresh  him  a  little.  But  Rosa  goon 
caught  the  same  disease,  and  has  never  since  leheld  the  light 
of  day  I  Nand  Flinck  is  dead,  and  the  children  are  scattered ; 
the  blind  Karel  is  provided  for  by  a  farmer  not  far  from 
Lier.  We  then  begged  Rosa  to  come  and  live  here,  and  told 
her  that  we  should  be  very  much  pleased  to  see  her  besid» 
UB,  and  would  willingly  work  for  her  all  our  lives ;  and  she 
oame  with  pleasure. — ^And  before  God  we  can  declare,  that 
she  has  now  been  nearly  six  years  here,  and  has  never  heard 
from  us  anything  but  words  of  kindness ;  but,  then,  she  is  all 
goodness  and  love ;  and  if  anything  were  to  happen,  which 
was  to  be  pleasant  to  Rosa,  I  do  believe  our  children  would 
fight  and  tear  each  other's  hair  to  be  the  first  to  " — 

"  And  she  begs  I "  sighed  the  traveller. 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  that  is  not  our  fault,"  replied  the  woman 
with  offended  pride.  "  Do  not  think  that  we  have  forgotten 
what  Rosa  once  did  for  us.  Had  it  been  necessary  to  yoke 
ourselves  to  the  plough,  and  endure  hunger  for  her  sake,  she 
would  not  have  required  to  beg.  What  do  you  think  of  us, 
sir  ?  No  1  we  prevented  it  for  more  than  six  months ;  and 
that  is  the  only  wrong  we  have  done  to  Rosa.  As  our  family 
increased  rapidly,  Rosa  feared  in  her  angel  heart  that  she 
would  be  a  burden  to  us,  and  wished  to  assist  a  little.  It 
was  all  in  vain  to  oppose  ;  she  became  quite  ill  with  vexation ; 
we  saw  this,  and  after  half  a  year's  entreaties,  we  were  at 
l&st  compelled  to  allow  her  to  take  her  own  way.  But  it  is  no 
disgrace  to  a  blind  woman.  Though  we  are  very  poor,  we  are, 
thank  God,  not  so  needy  as  to  require  it ;  but  she  compels  us  for 
all  that  to  take  now  and  then  a  share  of  her  gains,  for  we  can- 
not be  at  variance  with  poor  blind  Rosa  ;  but  we  give  it  back 
again  in  another  way.  For  although  she  does  not  know  it, 
she  is  better  clothed  than  we,  and  the  food  which  we  prepare 
Gor  her  ii  mnch  better  than  our  own.    A  little  pot  is  always 


StS  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

devoted  to  her.  See,  there  it  is,  two  eggs  with  latter-sanoo, 
in  addition  to  potatoes  I  The  remaining  money  she  layi 
aside,  if  I  understand  her  rightly,  as  a  little  portion  to  our 
children  when  they  are  grown  up.  We  thank  her  from  out 
hearts  for  her  love  ;  hut,  sir,  we  can  do  little  elm" 

The  traveller  had  listened  with  the  deepest  silence  to  this 
explanation ;  a  quiet  smile  which  beamed  upon  his  countenance, 
and  a  slight  occasional  movement  of  tne  eyes,  were  the  only 
indications  of  the  feelings  of  intense  joy  which  filled  his  heart. 

The  woman  had  ceased  speaking,  and  had  set  her  wheel  in 
motion  again ;  while  the  traveller  remained  for  a  time  occupied 
with  his  own  reflections.  Suddenly  he  put  the  child  on  the 
floor,  and  turning  to  the  man,  who  was  busy  with  his  brooms, 
said  in  a  tone  very  like  a  command — 

"  Cease  working  I " 

The  broom-maker  did  not  understand  at  first  what  he  wa 
after,  and  rose  from  his  seat,  astonished  at  the  tone  of  th 
stranger's  voice. 

"  Cease,  I  say — and  give  me  your  hand,  farmer  Nelis." 

"  Farmer  I "  muttered  the  broom-maker  with  surprise. 

"  Come,  come,"  cried  the  traveller.  "  To  the  door  witl 
your  brooms  I  I  will  give  you  a  hide  of  land,  four  milch-cows, 
a  heifer,  two  horses,  and  everything  else  which  goes  to  make 
up  a  comfortable  farm-steading. — You  do  not  believe  me?" 
he  continued,  showing  the  broom-maker  a  handful  of  gold 
pieces.  "  What  I  say  is  true.  I  might  give  you  this  gold, 
but  I  love  and  respect  you  too  much  to  put  money  in  your 
hand.  I  will  make  you  the  possessor  of  a  good  hide  of  land, 
and  even  after  my  death,  I  will  benefit  you  and  your  children." 

The  good  people  gazed  at  him  with  moist  eyes,  and  appeared 
not  yet  quite  to  comprehend  all  he  said.  When  the  traveller 
was  about  to  renew  his  promise,  Peerken  eagerly  seized  hiis 
tfj  the  hand,  as  if  he  would  say  something  to  him. 


BLIHD  BOBA.  tt9 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear  child?"  he  asked. 

"Mr.  John,"  replied  the  boy,  ''see! — tht  workers  are 
ooming  from  the  fields.  I  know  where  Rosa  is.  Shall  I  ruM 
to  meet  her,  and  tell  her  that  you  have  come?" 

The  traveller  took  Peerken's  hand,  and  drew  him  towards 
the  door — 

"  Come  along ;  we  shall  go  together  I "  he  said  ;  and  taking 
leave  of  the  family  with  a  slight  and  hasty  gesture,  he  accom- 
panied the  child,  who  led  him  towards  the  middle  of  the  village. 
As  soon  as  they  had  reached  the  first  houses,  the  rustics  came 
out  of  their  barns  and  stables,  and  looked  gaping  after  the 
traveller,  as  if  they  had  seen  a  miracle.  In  truth,  it  was  a 
wonderful  spectacle  to  see  the  child  in  his  shirt,  and  with  his 
bare  feet,  laughing  and  talking  merrily,  as  he  skipt  along  by 
the  side  of  this  unknown  stranger.  The  astonished  villagers 
could  not  understand  what  the  rich  gentleman,  who  seemed  t& 
be  a  baron  at  least,  meant  to  do  with  the  broom-maker's  little 
Peter.  Still  greater  was  their  astonishment,  when  they  saw 
him  stoop  and  kiss  the  child.  The  only  explanation  of  the 
matter  which  occurred  to  the  wisest  heads  among  them,  and 
was  soon  pronounced  before  every  house -door  to  be  the  true 
account  of  the  matter,  was,  that  the  rich  gentleman  had  bought 
the  boy  from  his  parents,  and  meant  to  adopt  him  as  a  son. 
This  had  often  been  done  by  city  people  who  had  no  chil- 
dren of  their  own  ;  and  little  Peter,  with  his  great  blue  eyes 
and  fair  curly  head,  was  certainly  the  prettiest  boy  in  the 
village.  But  for  all  that,  it  was  both  strange  and  pretty  to 
see  the  rich  gentleman  carry  off  the  child  in  nothing  but  his 
Bblrt. 

Meanwhile  the  traveller  stept  on.  The  whole  village  seemed 
to  him  irradiated  with  a  heavenly  light ;  the  foliage  coloured 
with  a  fresher  green ;  the  humble  little  cottages  smiled  to  him, 
and  it  was  for  him  the  birds  were  singing  their  enchantiDg 


140  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

song;  the  air  seemed  filled  with  glowing  life  and  balmy 
odours. 

Bevelling  in  this  new  feeling  of  happiness,  he  had  turned  hii 
attention  from  the  child.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  dis- 
tance, and  his  glance  tried  to  penetrate  the  trees  which  limited 
the  prospect  at  the  other  end  of  the  village.  Suddenly  the 
child  pulled  his  hand,  and  cried  with  a  loud  voice — 

"  There  I  down  there,  comes  blind  Rosa  with  our  Trieny  I" 

An  old  blind  woman  might  be  seen,  led  by  a  little  girl  of 
five,  entering  the  broad  street  of  the  village  from  behind  a 
little  house. 

Instead  of  responding  to  the  child's  eagerness  and  haste,  the 
traveller  stood  still,  and  looked  earnestly  and  sadly  at  the 
poor  blind  woman  as  she  slowly  approached.  And  was  this, 
then,  his  Rosa? — the  beautiful,  the  lovely  maiden,  whose 
image,  so  fresh  and  young,  was  yet  deeply  engraven  on  his 
heap^r 

in  a  moment  these  thoughts  vanished,  and  he  hastened  on 
to  meet  his  friend.  When  he  had  approached  to  within  fifty 
paces  of  her,  he  could  restrain  his  emotion  no  longer,  but, 
"  Rosa,  Rosa  1 "  burst  involuntarily  from  his  heart.  When 
the  voice  fell  upon  the  blind  woman's  ear,  she  withdrew  her 
hand  from  her  guide,  and  trembled  as  if  she  had  been  struck 
by  paralysis.  She  stretched  out  her  arms  gropingly  before 
her,  and,  exclaiming,  "John,  John  I"  hastened  towards  her 
long-lost  lover.  At  the  same  moment,  she  put  one  hand  in 
her  bosom,  and  tearing  a  string  which  hung  round  her  neck, 
she  held  out  a  golden  cross  with  an  unsteady  and  trembling 
hand :  and  so  she  fell  into  her  friend's  arms.  Then  gently 
withdrawing  from  his  embrace,  she  took  his  hand,  and  ex- 
claimed— 

"  0  John,  I  die  of  joy — but  I  have  vowed  a  vow  to  Gk)d» 
C!ome^  oome,  lead  me  to  the  churchyard." 


BLmD  BOSA.  941 

Joim  Slaets  did  not  nnderstand  wliat  Rosa's  purpose  was ; 
Imt  feeling,  from  the  tone  of  her  voice,  that  an  earnest,  per- 
haps a  sacred  work  was  about  to  be  done,  he  at  once  complied 
with  her  wish;  and,  without  paying  any  attention  to  the 
villagers,  who  by  this  time  surrounded  them  in  great  numbers, 
he  led  his  blind  friend  to  the  churchyard.  Here  she  turned 
towards  the  kneeling-bench,  and  with  the  words — 

"  Pray,  pray ;  I  vowed  it  to  Gk)d,"  she  forced  him  to  kneel 
by  her  side. 

She  raised  her  hands,  and  foe  a  long  time  prayed  in  a  low 
murmuring  voice.  She  then  threw  her  arms  round  her  friend's 
neck,  and  kissed  him ;  but  her  strength  had  now  failed  her, 
and  speechless,  but  smiling,  she  laid  her  head  upon  his  throb- 
bing breast. 

Peerken,  meanwhile,  danced  among  the  villagers,  and  as  he 
clapped  his  hands,  kept  shouting  as  loud  as  he  could — 

**  It  \b  Long  John  I  it  is  Long  John  I " 


On  a  beautifiil  day  in  the  autumn  of  1846,  the  Diligence 
rolled  as  usual  over  the  highway  between  Antwerp  and 
Tumhout.  Suddenly  the  driver  pulled  up,  not  far  from  a 
lonely  tavern,  and  descending  from  his  box,  opened  the  car- 
riage-door. Two  young  travellers  sprang  out  upon  the  road, 
laughing,  rejoicing,  and  swinging  about  their  anus  like  two 
birds  just  escaped  from  a  long  imprisoament.  They  looked 
at  the  trees  and  the  beautiful  blue  autumnal  air  with  the 
cheerful,  bright  expressioH  of  people  who  have  left  the  crowded 
city,  and  would  now  fain  inhale  with  their  breath  the  whole 
of  broad,  laughing  nature.  Suddenly  the  younger  of  the  two 
turned  his  face  towards  the  fields,  while  his  face  shone  with 
poetic  enthusiasm. 

"  Listen,  listen  I"  he  said. 

From  behind  the  fir- clumps  there  came  the  sound  of  diitant 


149  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

mnsic.   The  measure  was  so  light  and  gay,  that  one  was  OOM- 
pelled  to  associate  it  with  the  quick  beating  of  dancers'  feet. 

The  younger  companion  pointed  with  silent  delight  towards 
the  pine-copse,  and  then  exclaimed  in  a  jocular  way — • 

••  Oh !  hark  to  the  sound  of  the  fiddle  and  horn. 
The  dance  and  the  song — 'tis  a  festal  morn. 
Oh !  little  they  reck  of  dull  care  or  of  sorrow : 
They  will  laugh  for  the  day — tho'  they  weep  on  the  morrow." 

**  Come,  come,  friend  John,  your  inspiration  is  prsmatare. 
It  18  probably  only  the  new  burgomaster  whom  they  are  in- 
angurating." 

"  No,  no,  that  is  no  official  merriment.  Let  us  go  and  see 
the  peasant  girls  dancing — ^It  is  so  wonderfully  pretty." 

"We  shall  first  drink  a  glass  of  beer  with  mine  host 
Joosteng,  and  ask  him  what  is  going  on  in  the  village." 

"And  defraud  ourselves  of  the  pleasure  of  surprise? 
Prose  I" 

The  travellers  entered  the  tavern,  and  both  burst  into  a  loud 
laugh  the  moment  they  had  put  their  heads  into  the  room. 

Mine  host  Joostens  stood  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  as  straight 
as  an  arrow,  and  as  stiff  as  a  log.  His  long,  brown,  copious 
Sunday-coat  hung  round  him,  reaching  to  his  feet.  He  greeted 
the  guests  with  a  constrained  smile,  in  which  appeared  a  cer- 
tain perplexity,  for  he  dared  not  move  his  head  in  the  least, 
as  his  high  stiff  shirt-collar  took  every  opportunity  of  pinching 
him  behind  the  ears.  When  the  travellers  entered,  he  called 
out  with  impatience,  but  without  the  slightest  movement  of 
his  head — 

"  Zanna,  Zanna,  I  hear  the  music.  Did  I  not  tell  you  that 
you  would  be  too  late?" 

Zanna  came  running  into  the  room  with  a  great  basket- 
fnl  of  flowers.  Oh  I  she  was  so  beautiful  with  her  folded 
laoe-cap,  her  gown  of  pilot-cloth,  the  great  golden  heart  upon 


BUND  BOSA.  V  Sit 

her  breafit,  and  the  dear  little  ear-rings  I    Her  face  was  red 

with  joy  and  delighted  anticipation ;  it  looked  like  a  gigantic 
flower  which  is  just  on  the  point  of  unfolding  its  petals. 

"A.  majestic  peony  opening  its  cup  on  a  beautiful  May- 
day I "  whispered  the  younger. 

Meanwhile  she  had  fetched  two  glasses  of  beer,  and  then 
hastened  out  of  the  house  with  her  flowers,  singing  and  laugh- 
ing as  she  went.  With  the^  greatest  impatience  mine  hort 
now  shouted — 

"  Beth,  Beth,  if  you  do  not  come  down  at  once,  I  shall  go 
alone,  as  true  as  I  stand  here  I" 

Just  at  this  moment  the  old  clock,  which  hung  on  the  wall, 
pointed  to  nine,  and  a  bird's  voice  called  in  a  plaintive  tone — 
"  Cuckoo  I  cuckoo  I  cuckoo  I " 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  that?"  asked  one  of  the  travel- 
lers. "  You  have  sold  the  clock,  I  suppose,  which  used  to 
hang  here,  to  be  tormented  all  the  year  round  with  that  de- 
testable song?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  mine  host  with  a  cunning  smile,  "  laugh 
at  the  bird  as  you  please ;  it  brings  me  fifty  Dutch  florins  a 
year,  and  a  bunder*  of  good  land  into  the  bargain." 

In  the  distance,  four  gun-shots  resounded  at  o|ual  in- 
tervals. 

"  0  Heavens  I "  cried  mine  host,  "  the  fest  has  begun.  The 
wife  wears  my  very  life  away  with  her  off-putting  and 
dawdling  I " 

"  But,  mine  host  Joostens,"  asked  the  other  traveller,  "  what 
is  afoot  here?  Is  it  the  church-fest  to-day?  That  would 
be  singular  on  a  Thursday.     Or  is  the  king  coming?" 

"  Things  of  far  greater  importance,  sir,  are  going  on  here 
to-day :  the  like  was  never  heard  before  I  If  you  only  knew 
it,  you  would  not  require — this  time  at  least — to  draw  long 

*  Tvo  koDdzod  and  forty  feet  long  by  one  buadred  and  twen^  bnw4 


S44  TALEf  or  FLEHIBH  UVM. 

bows  and  inyent  lies  in  order  to  fill  yonr  books.  And  tbis  old 
cuckoo,  too,  has  something  to  do  with  the  tale  of  Blind  Rosa." 

"Blind  Rosa  I"  cried  the  younger  companion  with  joyfoi 
surprise.  "What  a  beautiful  title!  It  would  be  a  good 
pendant  to  the  Zieke  Jongeltng"* 

"Hallo I  that  won't  do,"  replied  the  other.  "We  have 
come  out  together  to  hunt  after  tales,  and  the  spoil  must  be 
honourably  shared.*' 

"  Well,  well,  we  shall  draw  lots  for  it  at  once,"  muttered 
the  younger,  half  sorrowfully. 

"But,"  said  the  other,  "it  is  all  a  mystery  to  us  yet. 
Come,  mine  host  Joris,  oS  with  that  detestable  collar,  and  let 
us  have  the  story  in  a  friendly  way.  You  will  get  the  book 
for  nothing  when  it  is  printed." 

"  Yes,  but  I  cannot  tell  you  all  the  outs  and  ins  of  it  at 
present,"  replied  mine  host.  "  There,  I  hear  my  wife  on  the 
stair ;  but  come  along  with  us  to  the  village,  and  by  the  way 
I  will  let  you  know  how  it  comes  about  that  guns  are  firing 
and  music  playing  so  merrily  to-day." 

The  wife  entered  with  a  dress  which  immediately  fixed 
the  attention  of  the  younger  traveller,  by  its  flaming  red, 
blue,  yellow,  and  white  colours.  She  ran  up  to  her  husband 
and  affectionately  tugged  his  shirt-collar  up  a  little  higher, 
and  then  taking  his  arm,  led  him  hastily  out  of  the  housCi 
Both  travellers  followed. 

Mine  host  Joostens  now  told  the  whole  history  of  Blind 
Rosa  and  Long  John  to  his  attentive  companions  as  they 
walked  towards  the  village;  and  although  he  had  spoken 
himself  quite  out  of  breath,  the  travellers  did  not  cease  to  ply 
him  with  all  sorts  of  questions.     He  told,  likewise,  how  Herr 

•  These  two  traTellers  were  Eendrik  Consdence,  the  author  of  these  ialm,  and  Jaa 
ran  Beers,  unquestionably  the  greatest  Flemiah  lyric  poet  of  the  day,  and  Hbm 
Itmpova  D4  Zidu  Jongding. 


BUND  S08A.  945 

Slaeta  had  purchased  the  old  cuckoo  clock,  and  promised  him 
fifty  florins  a  year  if  he  would  let  it  hang  in  his  tavern-room 
as  of  old ;  how  Long  John  had  lived  four-and-thirty  years  in 
Eussia  in  Asia,  and  had  amassed  considerable  wealth  by  the 
fur-trade ;  how  he  had  purchased  the  estate  of  old  Mevrouw, 
and  meant  to  live  on  it  with  Rosa  and  Nelis's  family,  all  of 
whom  he  had  adopted ;  how  he  had  given  the  grave-digger 
a  large  sum;  and  finally,  how  this  very  evening  a  grand 
peasants'  banquet  was  to  be  given  at  the  Hall,  and  for  which 
a  whole  heifer  was  to  be  roasted,  and  two  huge  pots  of  rice- 
soup  were  to  be  boiled.  Mine  host  was  still  in  the  full  flow 
of  his  description,  when  they  reached  the  broad  central  street 
of  the  village. 

The  travellers  listened  no  longer  to  his  talk,  for  they  were 
now  staring  their  eyes  out  of  their  heads,  gazing  at  all  the 
striking  and  beautiful  things  which  presented  themselves  on 
every  side.  The  whole  village  was  adorned  with  pine- 
branches  along  the  front  of  the  houses  in  an  uninterrupted 
line,  bound  together  by  snow-white  kerchiefs  or  flower- 
wreaths.  Interspersed,  and  above  the  spectators'  heads,  swung 
inscriptions  in  great  red  letters.  Here  and  there  a  fine  May- 
tree  was  planted,  with  its  hundred  tiny  flags  of  gold  leaf 
flittering  against  one  another,  with  chains  of  birds'  eggs,  and 
ringing  little  glass  rods.  On  the  ground  the  boys  and  girls 
had  scattered  heath-flowers  profusely,  and  formed  out  of  them 
as  usual  the  initials  of  Jesus  and  Mary.  Alongside  might  be 
seen  J.  R.,  prettily  woven  with  flowers.  This  was  meant  to 
stand  for  John—Rosa^  and  was  the  invention  of  the  school- 
master. Amid  all  these  beauties  moved  a  living  mass  of 
people,  who  had  flocked  from  the  neighbouring  villages  to 
be  present  at  this  singular  marriage-festival. 

The  young  travellers  amused  themselves  by  moving  firom  one 
group  to  another,  and  listening  to  the  people's  remarki.    But 


S46  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

when  the  procession  was  seen  approaching  the  village  th?x>iigk 
the  fields,  they  hastened  to  the  churchyard  gate,  and  tock  up 
their  position  on  an  eminence  whence  they  could  see  all  that 
was  going  on.  They  looked  upon  the  procession  with  a  kind 
of  reverence ;  and  indeed,  it  was  so  beautiful  and  impressive, 
that  the  hearts  of  the  travellers  throbbed  with  emotion — for 
their  hearts  were  young,  and  full  of  poetic  enthusiasm.  More 
than  sixty  little  girls,  between  the  ages  of  five  and  ten, 
all  clothed  in  white,  with  a  bright,  child-like  smile  on  their 
faces,  advanced  through  the  blue  air  like  a  little  flock  of 
lambs.  Above  their  fresh  little  faces,  and  on  their  loose  and 
flowing  hair,  lay  a  wreath  of  monthly  roses,  which  seemed  aa 
if  they  would  fain  contest  the  prize  of  beauty  with  the  laugh- 
ing lips  of  the  little  maidens. 

"  It  is  one  of  Andersen's  fairy  tales,"  said  the  younger  in  a 
low  voice.  "  The  sylphs  have  left  their  flower-cups — Inno- 
cence, Purity,  Youth,  Joy  I     How  beautiful  it  is  I " 

"  Ha  I "  said  the  other,  "  there  come  the  peonies  all  in  a 
row,  and  Zanna  Joostens  at  the  head  of  them  I " 

The  younger  was,  however,  too  much  enchanted  to  con- 
descend to  notice  this  unpoetical  remark.  With  a  kind  of 
rapture  he  was  gazing  at  the  great  number  of  marriageable 
young  maidens  who  followed  the  little  children,  all  in  their 
best  ornaments,  and  beaming  with  life  and  health.  How 
finely  the  features  of  those  blooming  girls  came  out  under 
their  snow-white  lace  caps  I  how  charmingly  their  quiet 
virgin  bashfulness  was  painted  on  their  blushing  cheeks  I 
how  bewitching  was  the  shy  smile  which  hovered  lound  their 
lips! — like  the  gentle  ripple  which  the  summer-breeze  stirs 
upon  the  lake,  when  it  plays  with  the  water  and  makes  it 
laugh. 

Ha !  there  comes  Blind  Kosa,  leaning  on  her  bride groom'i 
arm.     How  happy  must  the  poor  woman  feel  \ — she  hai  en- 


BUMO  BOBA.  S47 

dnred  so  mncli ;  slie  was  reduced  to  bear  the  "beggar  s  wallet. 
For  four-and-thirty  years  she  mourned  her  absent  lover,  and 
cradled  her  soul  in  a  hope  which  she  herself  half-suspected  to 
be  a  delusion.  And  there  he  is  now,  the  friend  of  her  child- 
hood and  youth  1  Leaning  on  his  arm,  she  walks  to  the  altar 
of  the  God  who  has  heard  her  prayers.  The  vows  which  they 
interchanged  under  the  cross  near  the  churchyard  are  about 
to  be  fulfilled.  She  is  his  bride  I  On  her  breast  glitters 
the  plain  golden  cross  which  Long  John  gave  her  so  many 
years  ago.  She  hears  now  the  joy,  the  welcomings,  the  song, 
and  the  music  which  celebrate  his  return.  She  trembles  in 
her  agitation,  and  nervously  presses  her  bridegroom's  arm,  as 
if  she  almost  doubted  the  reality  of  her  happiness. 

Behind  comes  Nelis,  with  his  wife  and  children  ;  they  are 
clothed  now  like  country  people  well-to-do.  The  parents  hang 
their  heads  as  they  walk,  and  dry  a  tear  of  admiration  and 
gratitude  from  their  eyes  every  time  they  look  at  their  blind 
benefactress.  Peerken  holds  his  head  erect  with  a  simple  and 
natural  independence,  and  shakes  his  waving  blond  hair, 
which  falls  in  curls  upon  his  neck.  He  leads  his  little  rlster 
by  the  hand. 

But  what  group  is  that?  The  ruins  of  an  army,  which 
has  been  devastated  by  the  sword  of  Time !  Behind  Nelis's 
children  totter  twenty  aged  men :  a  singular  spectacle  indeed ! 
All  are  gray  or  bald ;  the  backs  of  many  are  much  bent ;  the 
greater  number  support  themselves  on  staves ;  two  walk  with 
crutches;  one  is  blind  and  deaf;— -all  suffer  from  age  in  one 
form  or  another,  broken  down  by  the  weight  of  labour  and  of 
years,  so  that  one  might  have  supposed  that  Death  with  his 
scourge  was  driving  them  before  him,  like  a  herd  of  cattle, 
to  the  grave. 

Lauw  Stevens,  with  his  hands  almost  touching  the  g^-ound, 
goen  foremost;  and  the  blind  and  deaf  landlord  of  ^Tb« 


t48  TALE8  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

Rough  *'  IS  led  by  the  miller's  grandfather.  These  old  people 
had  lived  when  Long  John  was  the  cock  of  the  parish,  when 
every  one  had  to  yield  to  the  courage  and  haughtiness  of  his 
lusty  youth. 

Behind  these  followed  the  villagers,  men  and  women,  who 
had  been  invited  in  a  body  to  partake  of  the  marriage-feast 
in  the  Hall. 

The  procession  entered  the  church.  Outside,  the  solemn 
pealing  of  the  organ  was  heard. 

The  younger  traveller  took  his  comrade  aside  into  the 
churchyard,  and  stooping  and  turning  round,  held  out  two 
blades  of  grass,  whose  points  were  just  visible  beyond  his 
closed  hand. 

"  Already?"  said  the  other;  "you  are  in  very  great  haste." 

"  Choose,  choose  at  once  I  I  am  eager  for  this  subject,  and 
I  an  impatient  to  know  whether  I  may  write  upon  it  to-mor- 
row or  not.' 

The  elder  drew  one  of  the  blades  of  grass  out  of  his  com- 
panion's hand :  the  younger  let  the  remaining  one  fall  to  the 
ground,  and  sighed  sorrowfully — 

"I  have  lost  I" 


And  so  it  happens,  dear  reader,  that  the  elder  of  those  two 
friends  now  narrates  to  you  the  tale  of  Blind  Kosa.  It  is 
vexing,  certainly ;  for,  as  it  is,  you  have  the  story  in  prose, 
whereas  you  might  have  been  reading  it  in  inspired  rhythmical 
Another  time  may  late  be  more  propitious  to  yon  I 


THE  POOR  NOBLEMAH. 


CHAPTER    I. 


Towards  the  latter  end  of  July  1842,  an  open  carriage 
IB  j2;ht  be  seen  proceeding  on  its  way  to  Antwerp,  along  one 
of  the  three  great  roads  which  lead  from  the  confines  of  the 
Ihitch  territory. 

This  vehicle,  though  made  to  look  its  best,  by  careful  and 
elaborate  polishing,  yet  betrayed  too  clearly  the  poverty  of 
its  owner.  It  bore  the  marks  of  old  age,  swayed  to  and  fro 
on  its  framework,  and  clattered  in  its  wheel-boxes  like  a  loose 
window-pane.  The  leathern  covering,  which  was  partly 
thrown  back,  glanced  in  the  sun  with  the  grease  with  which 
it  had  been  besmeared,  but  the  oily  polish  failed  to  conceal 
the  scratches  and  rents  in  the  leather.  The  door-handles,  it 
is  true,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  the  brasswork,  were  very  care- 
fully furbished,  but  the  last  remnants  of  what  had  once  been 
silvering,  and  which  might  just  be  discovered  by  a  minute  ex- 
amination of  the  ornaments,  spoke  of  former  wealth,  now  sadly 
diminished,  if  not  entirely  dissipated.  The  single  horse  which 
drew  the  carriage,  was  a  strong  but  coarse  animal ;  and  it  was 
•isj  to  Bee,  from  ita  short  and  clumsy  steps,  that  it  had 


250  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

intended  for  teavier  work,  and  was  more  accustomed  to  t1i« 
cart  and  the  plough  than  to  the  light  labour  in  which  it  was 
now  engaged. 

On  the  box,  sat  a  peasant  lad  of  seventeen  or  eighteen 
years,  dressed  in  a  faded  livery,  with  gold  lace  round  his  hat, 
and  white  metal  buttons  on  his  coat ;  but  the  hat  fell  over 
his  ears,  and  the  coat  was  so  long  and  wide  that  it  nung 
round  him  like  a  great  sack.  This  dress,  the  property  of  the 
master,  had  apparently  been  worn  by  many  a  servant,  and 
was  evidently  still  destined  to  adorn  the  person  of  many  a 
successor. 

The  sole  occupant  of  the  carriage  was  a  gentleman  about 
fifty  years  of  age.  No  one  would  have  suspected  that  he 
was  the  master  of  such  a  servant,  and  the  owner  of  such  a 
crazy  vehicle,  for  his  appearance  immediately  inspired  the 
spectator  with  respect  and  esteem. 

With  downcast  eyes,  and  apparently  sunk  in  deep  reflection, 
he  sat  there  motionless,  till  a  rumbling  of  wheels  announced 
the  approach  of  another  carriage.  He  then  raised  his  head ; 
his  expression  suddenly  became  more  open,  and  assumed  the 
clear  lustre  of  contentment  and  complacency ;  and  a  gentle 
pride,  which  perhaps  might  rather  be  called  self-respect,  lighted 
up  his  features.  Scarcely,  however,  had  he  exchanged  a  polite 
greeting  with  the  passer-by,  when  his  head  slowly  sank  again 
upon  his  breast,  and  a  quiet  melancholy  again  took  possession 
of  his  countenance.  Spite  of  that,  it  needed  only  the  glance 
of  a  moment  to  be  attracted  powerfally  to  this  man  by  some 
secret  sympathy.  Although  very  thin,  and  covered  with  in- 
numerable wrinkles,  his  face  was  yet  so  regular  and  noble ; 
his  expression  so  gentle,  and  yet  so  deep ;  his  high- vaulted 
brow,  so  clear  and  strong,  that  one  instinctively  felt  persuaded 
that  this  man  was  richly  endowed  with  intellect  and  feefeng. 

Apparently  he  had  suffered  much.    If  his  countenance  h«d 


THE  POOB  NOBLEKAN.  S61 

not  given  this  impression,  it  might  have  been  inferred  from 
the  silver-gray  hairs  which  already  covered  his  head,  and 
with  which  a  peculiar  flash  of  his  dark  black  eyes,  wnen  he 
he  was  visited  by  some  overwhelming  thought,  finely  con- 
trasted. 

His  dress  was  in  perfect  keeping  with  these  outward  char- 
acteristics ;  it  bore  the  stamp  of  that  rich,  one  might  almost 
gay,  splendid  simplicity,  which  considerable  experience  of  the 
world,  and  a  fine  sense  of  the  becoming,  usually  give.  Hig 
linen  was  fine,  and  strictly  clean;  his  clothes  of  excellent 
material ;  and  his  hat  carefully  brushed.  At  times  too,  and 
especially  when  any  one  passed,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
beautiful  golden  snuff-box,  and  took  a  pinch  with  such  neat- 
ness, and  even  elegance,  that  one  might  have  inferred  from 
this  insignificant  circumstance  alone,  that  he  was  accustomed 
to  move  in  the  most  refined  society. 

A  critical  or  ill-natured  eye,  to  be  sure,  might  easily  have 
discovered,  on  closer  examination,  that  this  gentleman's  cloth- 
ing was  brushed  thread -bare,  that  the  nap  of  his  hat  had 
been  elaborately  smoothed  over  the  worn-out  rim,  and  that  his 
gloves  were  sewed  in  more  places  than  one.  Nay,  had  one 
been  able  to  peep  into  the  carriage,  one  might  have  seen  that 
there  was  a  rent  in  his  left  boot,  and  that  the  stocking  under 
it  was  blackened  with  ink.  But  all  these  marks  of  poverty 
were  so  skilfully  concealed,  and  the  dress  was  worn  with  such 
an  air  of  wealth,  and  such  a  noble  dignity  of  bearing,  that 
most  men  would  have  at  once  concluded  that  if  this  gentle- 
man did  not  wear  finer  clothes,  it  was  only  because  he  did 
not  choose  to  do  so. 

The  carriage  had  already  rolled  over  the  highway  with 
considerable  rapidity  for  about  two  hours,  when  the  servant 
drew  up  in  the  causewayed  court  of  a  small  inn  outside 
Antwerp.     The  landlady  and  the  hostler  came  out,  and  over- 


25S  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

whelmed  the  gentleman  with  tokens  of  respect,  while  helping 
to  unyoke  the  horse.  The  owner  of  the  carriage  must  have 
been  in  the  habit  of  putting  up  here,  for  every  one  addressed 
blm  by  his  name. 

**  BeautiM  weather,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  ?  But  it  grows 
rather  warm ;  a  little  rain  would  do  no  harm  to  the  high 
country,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke.  Shall  we  give  the  horse  a  feed 
of  our  oats  ?  Ah  I  the  servant  has  brought  oats  with  him,  I 
see.     Have  you  any  commands,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  ?" 

While  the  hostess  was  uttering  in  rapid  succession  these 
and  similar  questions,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  stepped  out  of  his 
carriage,  said  some  friendly  words  to  the  woman,  hoped  she 
was  well,  inquired  after  her  family,  and  ended  by  saying 
that  he  must  go  immediately  into  the  city.  He  shook  hands 
with  her  heartily,  yet  with  just  so  much  of  the  manner  of  a 
kind  patron,  that  the  difference  of  rank  between  them  was 
not  thereby  compromised.  Then,  after  giving  some  directions 
to  his  servant,  he  turned  quickly,  but  with  a  polite  greeting, 
towards  the  bridge  which  led  to  the  city. 

At  a  solitary  part  of  the  outworks,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  stood 
still  to  brush  the  dust  from  his  clothes,  and  smooth  his  hat 
with  his  pocket-handkerchief;  and  then  passed  through  the 
Bed  Gate.  Now  that  he  found  himself  in  the  city,  where  he 
had  to  pass  men  of  all  kinds,  and  where  he  could  not  be  for 
a  moment  unobserved,  he  held  his  head  and  body  erect,  and 
gave  to  his  mien  that  serene  expression  of  self-satisfaction 
which  impresses  others  with  the  belief  that  one  is  happy. — 
Such  was  the  outward  seeming,  but,  in  secret,  deep  sorrow 
and  anxiety  oppressed  his  heart. 

A  humiliation  awaited  him,  the  very  probability  of  which 
made  his  heart  bleed.  But  there  was  a  being  on  earth  whom 
he  loved  more  than  his  life  or  his  pride  of  rank.  For  her  he 
had  already  offered  up  that  pride  as  a  sacrifice — ^for  her  lik^  a 


TBB  rooB  noblemah.  Stt 

mitjT  Buffered ;  and  yet  so  powerfdl  was  that  feeling  of  love 
in  him,  that  every  pain,  every  humiliation  which  he  endured, 
exalted  him  in  his  own  eyes,  and  made  him  regard  sorrow  as 
something  which  ennobles  and  sanctifies. 

None  the  less,  however,  did  his  soul  tremble  and  recoil 
tinder  the  effort ;  and  the  further  he  plunged  into  the  city, 
and  the  nearer  he  approached  the  house  where  a  sore  trial  of 
moral  strength  awaited  him,  the  more  impetuously  did  his 
blood  course  through  his  veins.  He  soon  stood  before  a  door ; 
and  as  he  pulled  the  bell,  his  hand  trembled  spite  of  the  sur- 
prising self-command  which  he  possessed ;  but  the  moment 
the  servant  appeared,  he  was  again  master  of  his  feelings — 

"  Is  the  Herr  Notary  at  home  ?"  he  asked. 

After  replying  in  the  affirmative,  the  attendant  conducted 
him  into  a  small  room,  and  then  went  to  inform  his  master. 
So  soon  as  he  found  himself  alone,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  threw 
his  right  foot  over  his  left  in  such  a  position  that  the  rent  in 
his  boot  could  not  be  perceived,  and  then  drawing  forth  his 
golden  snuff-box,  took  a  graceful  pinch. 

The  Notary  entered  with  a  business  face,  seemingly  quite 
prepared  to  give  a  polite  greeting ;  but  scarcely  had  he  per- 
ceived who  his  visitor  was,  when  he  assumed  that  expression 
of  cold  reserve  which  serves  as  a  kind  of  armour  of  defence, 
when  one  foresees  a  troublesome  business,  and  would  fain  get 
rid  of  it.  Far  from  showing  his  usual  loquacity  and  cordi- 
ality, he  sat  down,  after  a  few  words  of  ordinary  politeness, 
opposite  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  silently  and  with  an  inquiring 
look.  The  latter,  hurt  and  humbled  by  this  ungracious  recep- 
tion, felt  a  cold  shudder  pass  over  him  ;  but  making  a  great 
effort,  he  picked  up  courage,  and  said  in  a  tone  of  expostula- 
tion--" Pardon  me,  Herr  Notary  ;  compelled  by  an  unavoid- 
able necessity,  I  once  more  throw  myself  on  your  goodntfll 
lor  a  small  service/' 


9M  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  UFB. 

**  And  what  do  you  wish  from  me  ?"  asked  the  Notary. 

"  My  object  in  coming  to  you  is  to  obtain  another  and  a 
final  advance  of  a  thousand  francs,  or  even  less,  on  mortgage 
of  my  estate.  But  I  have  a  smaller  and  more  urgent  request. 
This  very  day  I  need  money,  and  would  fain  borrow  two  or 
three  hundred  francs  from  you.  You  will  not,  I  hope,  refuse 
me  this  trifling  assistance,  which  will  rescue  me  from  a  great 
embarrassment." 

"  A  thousand  francs  I  on  mortgage  1 "  muttered  the  Notary. 
**Who  would  pay  the  interest?  Your  property  is  already 
burdened  beyond  its  value." 

"  Oh  I  it  cannot  be,  Herr  Notary  ;  you  must  certainly  de- 
ceive yourself,"  replied  the  nobleman  with  great  anxiety. 

"  Not  at  all,  I  assure  you.  At  the  request  of  those  who 
have  advanced  money  on  your  property,  I  have  taken  a  valu 
ation  of  all  you  possess,  and  put  as  high  an  estimate  on  it  ai 
it  will  bear.  The  result  has  been,  that  it  is  only  in  the  eveni 
of  a  peculiarly  favourable  sale  that  it  can  meet  the  demands 
which  will  be  made  on  it.  Ton  committed  an  irremediabh 
folly,  sir  I  Had  I  been  in  your  place,  I  should  not  have  sacri 
ficed  all  my  possessions,  and  my  wife  to  boot,  to  an  ungrate- 
ful, and  I  might  almost  venture  to  say,  a  dishonourable  man, 
whether  he  were  my  brother  or  not." 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  seemingly  overpowered  by  painful 
recollections,  bent  his  head  sadly,  but  gave  no  answer  to  the 
imputation  thrown  on  his  brother's  character.  He  seemed 
to  struggle  with  his  feelings,  and  his  finger  pressed  the  gold 
snuff-box  convulsively  as  the  N-^tary  prweeded — 

"  Through  this  one  imprudent  act  you  have  brought 
yourself  and  your  child  to  poveiiy  :  this  can  be  concealed  no 
longer.  For  ten  long  years  have  you,  with  God  knows  how 
much  suffering,  preserved  the  secret  of.  your  ruin  ;  but  noir 
tiie  moment  approaches  when  you  must  sell  all  you  have." 


POOR  NOBLEILUI.  SM 

The  nobleman  looked  at  the  Notary  with  an  expression  ol 
agony  and  despair. 

"  It  is  as  I  have  said,"  the  latter  continued.  "  Herr  Ton 
HoogeLaen  has  died  while  travelling  in  Germany,  and  the 
heirs  have  got  possession  of  the  bond  for  four  thousand  francs, 
and  have  instructed  me  not  to  renew  it  on  any  terms.  Herr 
vor  Hoogebaen  was  your  friend,  but  the  heirs  know  nothing 
about  you.  For  ten  years  you  have  postponed  taking  up  this 
bill,  and  during  that  period  have  paid  two  thousand  francs  as 
interest.— For  your  own  good  the  thing  must  come  to  an  end. 
The  date  of  the  bond  gives  you  still  four  months'  respite, 
Herr  von  Vlierbeke." 

"  Four  months  more,"  sighed  the  nobleman  in  a  melancholy 
tone,  "  and  then— 0  God  I" 

"  Then,  your  goods  will  be  sold  by  order  of  a  court  of  law. 
Such  a  prospect,  I  easily  conceive,  must  be  very  painful  to 
you  ;  but  as  an  unavoidable  misfortune  threatens  you,  do  your 
best  to  meet  it  with  courage,  and  prepare  yourself  for  the 
stroke.  Permit  me  to  dispose  of  your  property  at  once,  under 
some  pretext  or  other,  and  so  escape  the  disgrace  of  a  com- 
pulsory sale." 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke  had  been  sitting  for  some  minutes  with 
his  hands  over  his  eyes,  as  if  the  sad  intelligence  which  he 
had  just  received,  had  quite  overwhelmed  him.  When  the 
Notary  suggested  the  voluntary  sale  of  his  property,  he 
raised  his  head,  'ind  said  with  a  constrained  but  painful 
composure — 

"  Your  advice,  Herr  Notary,  is  both  good  and  generous ; 
but  I  cannot  follow  it.  You  know  that  all  my  sacrifices — my 
submitting  to  this  life  of  misery,  my  never-ceasing  anxiety — 
have  but  one  object,  the  happiness  of  my  only  child.  You 
are  aware,  and  you  alone,  that  everything  which  I  do  has  a 
single,  and,  as  I  believe,  a  sacred  purpose.     Now,  it  almoil 


t56  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

seems  at  present  as  if  Ck>d  was  about  to  answer  my  ten  yeait* 
prayer.  A  tender  affection  has  sprung  up  between  my  child 
and  a  wealthy  man  whose  goodness  and  excellence  I  admire. 
His  guardian  seems  favourable  to  the  attachment.  Four 
months  I  the  period  is  a  short  one ;  but  am  I,  by  this  proposed 
sale,  at  once  to  destroy  all  my  hopes,  and  expose  my  child  and 
myself  to  starvation,  just  at  the  very  time  when  I  may  bring 
all  my  anxieties  and  sufferings  to  a  happy  termination  ?" 

"  So  you  mean  to  deceive  these  people,  and  perhaps  expose 
your  child  to  a  still  greater  misfortune  than  poverty?" 

The  word  "deceive"  made  the  nobleman  tremble  ;  a  cold 
shudder  ran  through  his  limbs,  and  a  blush  of  shame  over- 
spread his  fine  brow. 

"  *  Deceive  I'  "  he  sighed  bitterly ;  "  oh,  never !  But  I  do 
not  wish  to  crush  the  feeling  of  love  which  has  grown  up  so 
gently  and  insensibly  between  these  two  young  hearts,  by  an 
unseasonable  proclamation  of  the  wretched  state  of  my  own 
fortunes.  If  any  decided  step  were  about  to  be  taken,  I  should 
explain  honestly  how  I  stood.  If  my  doing  so  shall  blight 
my  hopes,  I  shall  then  follow  your  counsel,  sell  my  property, 
and  leave  my  fatherland  for  some  country  where  I  can  pro- 
cure, by  teaching,  a  maintenance,  however  miserable,  for  my 
daughter  and  myself." 

For  a  time  he  was  silent,  and  then  added,  as  if  struggling 
with  his  own  feelings — 

"  By  the  deathbed  of  my  wife,  and  by  the  altar  of  God,  T 
vowed  that  my  child  should  not  participate  in  my  calamity — 
that  she  should  not  feel  the  pressure  of  poverty,  but  lead  a 
peaceful,  a  happy,  and  a  free  life.  Hitherto  I  have  fulfilled 
my  vow  ;  but  these  ten  years'  sufferings  and  ten  years'  humi- 
liation have  not  e»abled  me  to  place  her  fortunes  on  a  sure 
basis ;  but  now,  one  ray  of  hope  irradiates  our  dark  future." 

Then,  trembling,  he  seized  the  Notary  by  the  hand,  looked 


THE  POOR  NOBLEMAN.  857 

Into  bis  face  with  a  wild  and  anxious  expression,  and  said 
imploringly — "  Help  me,  my  friend,  at  this  critical  time ;  do 
not  torture  me  any  longer,  but  give  me  what  I  ask.  I  will 
bless  the  name  of  my  benefactor,  the  deliverer  of  my  child, 
while  I  live  I" 

The  Notary  withdrew  his  hand,  and  replied  with  visible 
annoyance — 

"  But  I  do  not  understand  what  bearing  all  this  has  on  the 
sums  you  wish  to  borrow  ?" 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  said, 
in  a  peculiar  tone — 

"  Ah,  it  is  amusing,  is  it  not,  to  sink  so  low  as  to  see  life- 
long happiness  or  misery  dependent  on  things  which  other 
men  would  laugh  at  ?  Well,  to-morrow  the  young  man  and 
his  uncle  dine  with  us.  The  uncle  invited  himself.  We  have 
nothing  to  set  before  them  ;  and  my  daughter  requires  a  few 
articles  of  dress  to  make  her  presentable,  especially  as  we 
shall  also  be  invited  by  them  in  turn.  Our  solitude,  there- 
fore, can  no  longer  conceal  our  poverty.  Sacrifices  of  every 
kind  must  be  made  to  save  us  from  shame." 

At  these  words,  he  drew  his  hand  out  of  his  pocket,  and 
showed  two  francs  in  a  little  purse. 

"  See  I "  he  said  with  a  bitter  smile,  "  that  is  all  I  possess 
in  the  world ;  and  to-morrow  I  have  to  entertain  wealthy 
visitors.  If  my  poverty  is  in  the  smallest  degree  betrayed, 
then  all  hope  for  my  child  is  at  an  end.  For  God's  sake, 
Herr  Notary,  do  not  deny  me  your  generous  aid." 

"  A  thousand  francs  I "  muttered  the  Notary ;  "  I  cannot  de- 
ceive my  clients.  What  security  will  you  give  me?  Ton 
possess  nothing  which  is  not  overburdened  already." 

"A  thousand,  or  five  hundred,  or  two  hundred — ^let  mo 
have  something,*  whatever  it  may  be,  which  wiF  deliver  me 
from  the  present  difficulty." 


358  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

"  I  hare  no  money  at  my  disposal  at  present/'  was  the  cold 
reply.  "  Perhaps  m  a  fortnight ;  but  I  cannot  say  for  cer- 
tain." 

"  Then,  for  onr  friendship's  sake,  lend  me  out  of  your  own 
purse." 

"  I  cannot  hope  that  you  will  ever  be  in  a  position  to  repay 
the  loan,"  interrupted  the  Notary  impatiently.  "  It  is,  there- 
fore, alms  which  yon  are  asking." 

The  nobleman  wrung  his  hands  painfully ;  he  grew  pale ; 
his  eyes  flashed,  and  his  brow  grew  dark  with  passion ;  but 
he  controlled  this  violent  emotion,  and,  looking  up,  he  mut- 
tered with  a  kind  of  melancholy  indifference — 

"  Alms,  do  you  say  ?  Be  it  so.  Even  this  last  drop  of  the 
cup  of  suffering  will  I  drink — it  is  for  my  child  I " 

The  Notary  took  some  five-franc  pieces  out  of  a  drawer  and 
offered  them  to  him.  Whether  it  was  that  he  now  felt  more 
keenly  the  degradation  of  taking  alms,  or  that  the  sum  offered 
was  so  entirely  inadequate,  he  looked  at  the  money  for  a  time 
with  a  wild  stare,  and  then,  throwing  himself  back  in  his 
chair,  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

At  this  moment  a  servant  entered  and  announced  a  stranger ; 
the  nobleman  sprang  up  the  moment  the  serrant  left  the  room, 
and  wiped  a  few  tears  from  his  eyes.  The  Notary  pointed  to 
the  money  on  the  table ;  but  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  shuddering, 
turned  aside  his  head,  and  said  hastily — 

"  Herr  Notary,  pardon  my  boldness ;  I  have  still  one  favom 
to  beg  of  you." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  In  the  name  of  my  child,  secrecy  1 " 

**  On  that  point,  you  have  already  had  long  experience  of 
me.  Have  entire  confidence.  Will  you,  then,  not  accept  this 
■mall  help?" 

"Thanks!    thanks  1"  cried  the  nobleman,  as  he  pushed 


THE  rOOB  NOBLEMAIC  S3t 

•ride  the  Notary's  Land,  trembling  as  if  an  ague  were  on  him, 
and  hastened  from  the  room  and  the  house,  without  waiting 
to  be  shown  out  by  the  servant. 

Overwhelmed  by  the  humiliating  blow  which  he  had  re- 
ceived, almost  unconscious,  and  tortured  by  a  deep  sense  of 
shame,  his  head  on  his  breast,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  the  wretched  nobleman  hastened,  apparently  without 
a  purpose,  from  street  to  street,  and  seemed  not  to  know  where 
he  was,  or  whither  he  was  going.  At  last,  the  feeling  of  ne- 
cessity roused  him  from  his  feverish  dream,  and,  turning  his 
steps  towards  the  Burgerhout  gate,  he  wandered  along  the 
fortifications,  till  he  found  himself  alone  in  a  solitary  spot. 

There,  pausing,  a  severe  internal  struggle  seemed  to  com- 
mence. His  lips  moved  rapidly,  while  his  countenance  ex- 
pressed pain,  despair,  and  shame,  by  turns.  Meanwhile  he 
drew  the  gold  snuff-box  from  his  pocket,  and,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  intense  grief,  gazed  for  a  long  time  on  the  arms 
engraven  on  its  lid,  and  then  relapsed  into  a  melancholy 
reverie.  Soon  after,  he  shook  off  his  sad  thoughts,  as  if  he 
had  come  to  some  important  conclusion,  and  said,  with  a  low 
but  faltering  voice,  full  of  deep  emotion — 

"  Last  token  of  a  mother's  love  I  Guardian  angel,  who  hast 
so  long  concealed  my  misery  I — sacred  shield,  which  I  have 
thrown  over  a  penury  which  all  else,  alas  I  too  clearly  indi- 
cated ;  thou  time-honoured  heirloom  of  my  father  I  to  thee, 
too,  must  I  say  farewell — thee  must  I  with  my  own  hand  dis- 
honour! May  this  last  resource  in  our  necessity  rescue  us 
from  a  still  deeper  humiliation  I" 

A  tear  rolled  over  his  face  as  he  proceeded  with  his  singu- 
lar business,  and  with  a  knife  scraped  the  snuff-box  till  the 
arms  were  quite  indistinguishable.  He  then  returned  to  the 
city,  where  he  threaded  his  way  through  narrow  and  solitary 
■treets,  examining  the  signboards  as  he  passed  along  with  a 


9M  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  UFl. 

timid  and  shy  look.  After  he  had  cirept  about  in  this  waj 
for  more  than  an  hour,  he  came  to  a  small  lane  in  the  St. 
Andrew's  quartet,  where,  as  his  face  at  once  indicated,  ho 
found  the  object  of  his  search.  His  eye  was  fixed  upon  a 
signboard  on  which  were  inscribed  the  two  words,  "  Sworn 
Hill-carrier."  This  signified  that  some  one  lived  in  the 
house  who  lent  money  for  pledges,  as  the  representative  of 
the  establishment  called  Mont  de  Piete.  The  nobleman 
passed  the  house,  and  walked  to  the  end  of  the  street ;  ther 
tiimed,  and  walked,  now  slowly  and  now  quickly,  up  and 
down,  always  quickening  his  step  when  he  saw  any  one 
approaching.  At  last  he  found  a  favourable  moment,  and 
trembling  as  he  crept  along  the  wall,  he  slipped  into  the  house 
on  which  he  had  perceived  the  signboard.  He  reappeared 
after  a  considerable  time,  and  fled  round  the  corner  of  another 
street.  A  certain  satisfaction  was  perceptible  in  his  eyes ;  but 
the  dark  red  which  still  suffused  his  face  clearly  indicated 
that  he  had  obtained  the  desired  relief  only  at  the  cost  of  a 
new  humiliation. 

He  proceeded  into  the  middle  of  the  town,  and  entering 
an  eating-house,  purchased  a  fowl,  a  meat-pie,  some  pre- 
served fruits,  and  other  little  dishes,  and  having  got  them 
packed  in  a  basket,  said  that  he  would  send  his  servant  to 
fetch  them.  He  then  purchased  at  a  silversmith's  a  pair  of 
silver  spoons,  and  a  pair  of  ear-rings,  and  then  left  this  quarter 
apparently  with  the  intention  of  providing  himself  with  vari- 
oua  other  aftisles. 


THE  FOOB  NOBLEHAS.  S61 


CHAPTBB  IL 

On  many  of  the  waste  heatlis  of  our  country,  man  has  be- 
gun a  victorious  contest  with  nature,  in  his  efforts  to  awaken 
the  soil  out  of  its  sleep  of  ages.  He  has  stirred  up  the  arid 
entrails  of  the  earth,  and  dropt  the  sweat  of  his  brow  into  its 
lap  ;  has  called  science  and  industry  to  his  aid  ;  has  drained 
marsh  and  moor ;  has  led  the  rich  mountain- water  from  the 
bed  of  the  Meuse  into  diverse  channels,  and  so  caused  its  fer- 
tilizing life-veins  to  permeate  the  soil  which  for  more  than  a 
thousand  years  has  lain  in  a  sleep  of  death. 

Glorious  struggle  of  man  with  matter  1  ever-to-be-lauded 
victory,  which  one  day  will  convert  the  barren  Kerapenland 
into  a  fertile  garden  I  Truly,  our  posterity  will  scarcely  be- 
lieve that  where  a  waving  sea  of  corn  or  a  green  meadow  is 
spread  out  before  their  enchanted  gaze,  the  sun's  rays  were 
once  reflected  by  the  bright  and  barren  sand. 

To  the  north  of  the  city  of  Antwerp,  towards  the  borders  of 
Holland,  one  can  perceive  scarcely  any  traces  of  these  begin- 
nings; here  and  there  only,  close  by  the  highway,  a  part 
of  the  heath  is  enclosed ;  but  more  inland,  in  the  heart  of 
the  district,  everything  is  waste  and  sterile.  Yonder,  as  far 
as  the  eye  can  reach,  nothing  is  visible  but  a  scorched  plain, 
whose  only  ornament  is  the  never-failing  heath-flower.  Yon- 
der are  wide-extended  lands  where  nothing  bounds  the  horizon 
iave  that  bluish  mist — always  a  sure  sign  that  the  waste  ez- 


26S  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  Lin. 

tends  mucli  farther  tlian  the  eye  can  reach.  If  one  has  wan- 
dered far  over  these  plains,  he  will  know  that  here  and  there 
he  comes  unexpectedly  upon  some  winding  little  brook,  whose 
banks  are  adorned  with  wild-flowers  and  low  willow  clumps. 
By  the  side  of  this  murmuring  heath-stream,  farm-houses, 
Tillas,  and  whole  villages  may  be  met  with,  as  if  man,  like  the 
soil  beneath  him,  needed  only  running  water  to  enable  him  to 
find  nourishment  and  to  live.  In  one  of  those  spots  where 
willows  and  bushes  of  various  kinds  abounded,  €tood  a  Hall  of 
considerable  size,  to  which  a  retired  path  led.  The  lofty  trees 
which  threw  their  shadow  so  majestically  round,  showed  that 
man  had  been  here  for  centuries ;  and  the  moat  which  sur- 
rounded the  hall  and  its  immediate  environs,  as  well  as  the 
stone  bridge  before  the  gate,  justified  the  inference  that  a 
lordly  estate  must  be  attached  to  it.  This  property  went  by 
the  name  of  Grinselhof. 

The  farm-house,  with  its  stables,  bams,  and  out-houses,  oc- 
cupied the  whole  front  of  the  domain,  and  almost  prevented 
the  passer-by  from  seeing  what  was  going  on  behind  the 
thick  wood,  and  within  the  moat.  That,  indeed,  was  to  a 
great  extent  a  secret  to  the  farmer  himself.  Behind  his 
house  and  farm-yard  there  rose  a  thick  plantation,  which, 
like  a  curtain,  concealed  the  interior  of  the  domain  from 
his  curious  eyes.  Neither  he  nor  any  one  of  his  family  were 
allowed  to  pass  this  limit  uninvited.  In  the  depths  of  this 
seclusion,  among  the  highest  trees,  stood  a  large  house,  called 
by  the  peasantry  the  Castle.  Here  dwelt  a  nobleman  and  his 
daughter,  as  lonely  and  retired  as  hermits,  without  attendants 
either  male  or  female,  and  carefully  avoiding  all  society. 
The  rumour  was  that  this  nobleman,  notwithstanding  his  ex- 
tensive possessions,  avoided  the  intercourse  of  his  fellow- men 
through  avarice  and  parsimony. 

So  far  as  the  farmer  was  concerned,  the  secret  was  impeiM- 


THE  POOB  NOBIJUUX.  963 

trable;  for  lie  honoured  his  master's  privacy  too  much  to 
throw  any  light  npon  his  circumstances  and  mode  of  life.  It 
was  to  him  a  profitable  farm.  The  soil  was  fruitful  there,  and 
the  rent  moderate.  He  showed  himself  grateful  to  his  master 
for  this,  and  willingly  lent  him  a  horse  to  convey  him  every 
Sunday  morning  to  the  village,  where  the  nobleman  and  hii 
daughter  regularly  attended  Divine  service.  On  urgent  oc- 
casions, too,  his  younger  son  acted  as  servant  to  the  pro- 
prietor 

It  is  late  in  a  July  afternoon,  and  the  sun  has  nearly  com- 
pleted its  daily  course  in  the  heavens,  and  dips  towards  the 
western  horizon;  but  its  rays,  though  they  have  lost  their 
mid-day  heat,  are  still  warm,  and  pour  over  nature  a  rich  and 
varied  glow.  On  Grinselhof,  too,  the  declining  sun  beams 
brightly  and  serenely  down  between  the  over-arching  foliage. 
While  its  rays  paint  the  tops  of  the  trees  with  softer  tints, 
the  green  on  the  farther  side  grows  darker,  and  the  interior  of 
the  wood  more  mysterious  and  gloomy.  Giant  shadows  now 
stretch  over  the  ground ;  and  after  the  sultry  heat  of  the  day, 
a  fresh  evening  coolness  slowly  rises  from  blade  and  leaf,  and 
fills  the  air  with  its  reviving  odour.  Spite  of  all  this,  however, 
everything  is  gloomy  round  Grinselhof.  A  deathlike  stillneas 
lies  like  a  funeral  pall  over  the  lonely  dwelling ;  the  birds  are 
silent,  the  wind  is  hushed,  and  not  a  leaf  stirs.  Nothing  but 
light ;  it  alone  seems  to  live  here. 

One  might  have  supposed,  from  the  absence  of  all  motion 
and  of  all  sound,  that  amid  these  melancholy  shades  nature 
lay  sunk  for  ever  in  a  magic  sleep.  If  one  let  his  eye  wander 
round  in  the  impenetrable  gloom,  in  the  vain  endeavour  to 
pierce  through  the  wild  entangled  foliage,  it  was  only  to  recoil 
with  a  shudder,  as  if  the  quiet  mystery  of  this  spot  held  8om« 
jet  ifkidiyulged  horror  in  its  breast. 


264  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

Snddenly  a  nstle  is  heard  among  the  bushes,  and  the  HttU 
branches  bend  and  quiver ;  some  one  swiftly  springs  through 
them ;  many  birds  leave  the  copse  in  alarm,  and  fly  terrified 
hither  and  thither,  as  if  endeavouring  to  escape  some  ap- 
proaching danger.  Perchance  there  comes  some  human  being, 
to  bring  life  and  sound  where  death  and  silence  seemed  to 
have  an  eternal  empire. 

Yonder  the  copse  opens,  and  a  young  maiden,  all  clothed 
in  white,  springs  forward  from  among  the  hazel  bushes,  chas- 
ing a  butterfly  with  a  silken  net  in  her  hand.  She  leaps  and 
runs  more  swiftly  than  a  roe ;  stretching  her  slender  body,  with 
her  arms  above  her  head,  and  scarcely  touching  the  ground 
with  her  tiptoes,  she  seems  winged,  and  more  agile  than  the 
birds  which  she  had  just  startled  from  their  hiding-places. 
Her  long  hair  falling  in  thick  clusters  on  her  beautiful  neck 
— see  with  what  a  bound  she  rises  from  the  earth ! 

How  beautiful!  how  magnificent  is  that  butterfly,  which 
flutters  and  dances  overhead  as  if  it  had  pleasure  in  sporting 
with  the  young  girl — its  indented  wings  all  over-sown  with 
eyes  of  azure,  purple,  and  gold ! 

A  cry  of  joy,  like  a  clear  musical  tone,  burst  from  the 
maiden's  lips.  She  thought  she  had  caught  the  object  of  her 
chase,  but  she  had  only  touched  it  with  the  edge  of  the  net 
and  ruffled  its  wings.  The  butterfly  rises  high  into  the  air, 
and  is  soon  far  beyond  reach ;  while  she  looks  sadly  after  it, 
till  its  colours  melt  into  the  blue  of  the  sky. 

The  girl  stands  panting  for  a  moment  till  she  has  regained 
her  breath,  and  then  with  slow  steps  strikes  into  a  broad  foot- 
path. How  beautiful  she  is  I  The  sun  has  somewhat  em 
browned  the  soft  colouring  of  her  face,  but  only  to  deepen  the 
glow  upon  her  cheeks,  and  to  give  to  it  the  full  expression  ol 
mental  energy  and  bodily  health.  Under  her  high  brow 
her  black  eyes  gleam  like  stars  through  her  long  eyelaahet ; 


nm  rooB  koblemav.  S€i 

her  finely-cnt  month  encloses  two  rows  of  glancing  pearli, 
which  peep  out  between  lips  which  might  shame  the  bloom 
of  the  fairest  rose.  All  the  charms  of  this  bright  virgin  face 
are  surrounded  by  a  crown  of  wavy  and  flowing  hair,  which 
lies  cradled  on  her  shoulders,  here  and  there  revealing  a  white 
and  swan-like  neck.  Her  form  is  slender,  and  scarcely  con- 
cealed by  the  simple  white  garment  which  she  wears.  "When 
she  raises  her  head,  and  bending  back,  gazes  into  the  blue 
heavens  above  her,  one  might  almost  believe  that  he  saw  the 
dream-form  of  some  spirit  of  the  air,  and  imagine  that  this 
maiden  was  the  elf  of  Grinselhof. 

Wandering  over  the  winding  paths — now  visited  by  some 
pleasing  memory  which  lighted  up  her  face  with  a  smile,  at 
another  time  repressing  some  deeper  emotion  of  the  heart,  and 
standing  with  earnest  fiwje,  and  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground — 
she  approached  a  flower-bed,  in  which  some  favourite  pinks 
were  fast  withering  under  the  heat.  These  flowers  were  evi- 
dently objects  of  more  than  ordinary  affection,  for  they  were 
all  bound  careftilly  to  white  stakes,  and  not  a  weed  was  per- 
mitted to  show  its  head  among  tfc^m.  The  selection  of  the 
flowers,  the  childlike  precautions  by  which  they  were  sur- 
rounded, a  tone  of  motherly  care  which  could  be  felt  better 
than  expressed — all  betokened  that  they  were  reared  and  tended 
by  a  female,  or  rather  a  loving  virgin  hand.  The  maiden 
had  already  perceived  from  a  distance  that  the  flowers  were 
drooping ;  she  approached  them  with  an  anxious  face,  stooped 
down,  and  taking  a  faded  blossom  in  her  hand,  said — 

*•  Alas,  my  poor  flowers  1  I  forgot  to  water  you  yesterday. 
You  are  thirsty,  are  you  not  ?  And  now  you  stand  patiently 
there,  pining  away  waiting  for  me,  and  hanging  your  little 
heads  as  if  you  would  die !" 

Musing  a  little,  she  added :  "  But  since  yesterday  I  hairiB 
been  lo  distracted,  so  joyfdl,  so  veiy  happy  V* 


5M6  TALES  OF  FLBMI8R  UfS. 

Then  looking  to  the  gronnd  modestly  and  basnfally,  sht 
whispered,  with  a  scarcely  articulate  voice — "Guslavl" 

For  a  time  she  stood  motionless  in  this  attitude,  and  forgot 
her  flowers,  and  the  whole  world  besides — seemingly  all  alone 
with  some  charming  creation  of  her  fancy.  .  Again  her  lips 
moved,  and  she  whispered — 

"Ever,  ever,  his  image  before  my  eyes — ever  his  voice 
haunting  me  I  It  is  impossible  to  free  myself  from  this  magic 
spell ;  how  my  heart  beats  I  Heavens  I  what  is  this  I  feel  ? 
Now  my  blood  boils  in  my  veins,  now  flows  cold  and  slow, 
and  again  hastens  in  wild  pulsations  through  my  heaving 
bosom.  My  heart  is  heavy ;  a  vague  anxiety,  which  I  cannot 
name,  possesses  me ;  and  yet  my  soul  exults,  and  is  filled  with 
a  deep  and  mysterious  rapture  I " 

She  stood  silent  and  motionless  for  some  time ;  then,  seem- 
ing suddenly  to  awake,  she  raised  her  head,  and  with  a 
characteristic  movement  shook  the  thick  curls  hastily  from 
her  face,  as  if  she  would  thus  free  herself  from  some  over- 
powering thought. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  she  said  to  the  pinks  with  a  smile ;  "  I 
will  bring  you  help  and  refreshment."  And  springing  aside, 
she  broke  a  few  twigs  and  constructed  a  screen  for  the 
flower-bed ;  then,  picking  up  a  watering-pot  which  lay  near^ 
ran  through  the  grass  to  a  little  fish-pond  overhung  bj 
weeping  willows.  When  she  approached,  the  surface  of  the 
water  was  smooth  and  calm ;  but  scarcely  had  her  form 
been  reflected  in  it,  when  the  whole  pond  seemed  to  swarm 
with  living  beings  :  hundreds  of  little  fishes,  of  every  size 
and  colour — red,  white,  and  black,  came  shooting  from  every 
Bide,  and  pushed  their  little  heads  out  of  the  water,  snap- 
ping their  mouths  as  if  they  would  fain  talk  with  their 
young  mistress.  Holding  fast  with  one  hand  by  the  stem 
of  the  nearest  willow,  she  bent  gracefully  over  the  water. 


tEE  POOB  NOELEMAN. 

and  ecdeayonred  to  fill  the  can  without  tonching  her  little 
friends. 

"  Come,  come,  let  me  aJone,"  she  said,  as  she  gently  pushed 
the  fishes  aside  to  make  room  for  the  pot ;  "  I  have  no  time 
to  play  with  you  at  present.  I  shall  fetch  your  dinner  very 
soon." 

But  the  fish  insisted  on  playing  round  the  watering-pot 
while  it  remained ;  and  even  after  the  young  girl  was  gone, 
they  seemed  attracted  to  the  spot  on  the  edge  of  the  pond 
which  had  been  pressed  by  her  feet,  and  passed  and  repassed 
it  with  swift  and  shooting  motions. 

The  maiden  had  watered  the  flowers,  and  the  watering-can 
had  slowly  dropt  from  her  hands.  With  thoughtful  and 
downcast  eyes  she  directed  her  steps  towards  her  lonely  dwell- 
ing, then  returning  with  some  bread  for  the  fishes,  wandered 
round  the  garden-paths  sunk  in  a  deep  reverie. 

At  last  she  approached  a  spot  where  an  old  Indian  jessa- 
mine stretched  its  hanging  branches  over  the  path.  Under  its 
broad  shadow  were  a  table  and  two  chairs.  A  book,  inkstand, 
and  some  ladies'-work,  indicated  that  she  had  already  spent 
part  of  the  day  here.  She  sat  down,  and  taking  up  the  book 
and  the  work  by  turns,  let  both  fall  heedlessly  from  her  hands ; 
and  then  giving  herself  entirely  up  to  her  musing,  she  rested 
her  graceful  head  upon  her  hand,  as  if  weary,  and  needing 
repose. 

For  some  time  her  eyes  wandered  unsteadily  from  object 
to  object :  a  sweet  smile  played  at  intervals  round  her  mouth, 
as  if  she  were  conversing  with  some  beloved  friend.  But  ere 
long  her  wearied  eyelids  slowly  sank — ^rose  again  only  to  sink 
more  heavily,  till  at  last  a  deep  sleep  fell  upon  her. 

"Did  she  sleep?"  Her  soul,  at  least,  was  awake  and 
happy ;  for  that  charming  smile  was  still  visible  on  her  coun- 
tenance, vanishing  at  times  to  give  place  to  a  calmer  expret- 


TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

doiif  and  then  coming  again,  as  a  token  of  the  perfect  peace 
and  joy  which  existed  in  the  mirror-like  purity  of  the  maiden's 
soul.  Surely  the  creations  of  her  dreaming  fancy  took  shape 
and  hovered  before  her  eyes  in  the  evening  red,  pouring  a 
flood  of  happiness  over  her  heart  I 

Long  she  lay  there,  in  entire  seK-ohlivion,  and  cradled  in 
delicious  dreams. — 

There  was  a  noise  at  the  front  gate  near  the  farm-house, 
and  the  loud  neighing  of  a  horse  broke  the  sfHuess  of  Grin- 
selhof ;  but  the  maiden  did  not  awake.  The  old  vehicle  had 
returned  from  the  town  and  had  stopped  at  the  farm-yard, 
and  the  farmer  and  his  wife  hastened  up  to  welcome  their 
master  and  unyoke  the  horse. 

While  they  were  busying  themselves  in  this  way,  Herr  von 
Vlierbeke  stepped  out  of  the  carriage  and  addressed  some 
friendly  remarks  to  them,  but  in  a  tone  so  melancholy,  that 
both  simultaneously  looked  at  him  with  surprise.  At  other 
times,  and  even  in  his  most  kindly  and  cheerful  moods,  a  quiet 
earnestness  and  gloom  never  left  him ;  but  on  this  occasion  a 
more  than  ordinary  dejection  was  imprinted  on  his  face.  He 
seemed  very  much  exhausted ;  and  his  eyes,  usually  so  full  of 
Tivacity,  had  now  a  dull  and  heavy  motion  under  his  hanging 
eyelids. 

The  horse  had  been  put  in  the  stable ;  and  the  young  man, 
who  had  already  laid  aside  his  livery,  took  some  baskets  and 
packets  out  of  the  carriage,  and  carried  them  into  the  house. 
Meanwhile,  von  Vlierbeke  went  up  to  the  farmer  and  said — 

"  Rans,  I  shall  need  you  to-morrow  ;  there  are  to  be  visitors 
at  Grinselhof.    Herr  Denecker  and  his  nephew  dine  with  us." 

The  farmer  looked  at  his  master  with  astonishment;  he 
could  scarcely  believe  that  he  heard  rightly.  After  a  short 
pause,  he  said,  with  a  doubting  look — "The  stout,  rich 
gentleman,  who  sits  beside  you  in  church  on  Sundays  ?" 


TUB  rOOB  NOBLEMAH.  269 

"Well,  Huis,  what  is  so  surprising  in  his  paying  me  a 
▼isit?" 

"And  the  high-spirited  young  Herr  Gustav,  who  after 
service  yesterday  spoke  with  our  young  lady?" 

"The  same." 

"  Ah,  sir,  those  are  very  wealthy  people  ;  they  have  pur- 
chased all  the  property  round  Echelpoel.  At  their  country 
seat  ten  horses  stand  in  their  stables,  in  addition  to  those 
which  they  have  in  town.  Their  carriage  is  all  adorned  with 
gold  and  silver  from  top  to  bottom." 

"  So  I  believe,  and  it  is  just  for  that  reason  that  I  am  par- 
ticularly desirous  to  receive  them  as  becomes  their  position. 
Hold  yourself  and  your  wife  and  son  in  readiness ;  I  will  call 
you  early  to-morrow  morning,  and  you  will  not  object  to 
lend  me  a  hand,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,  sir,  not  at  all.  We  shall  do  what  you  wish 
with  the  greatest  pleasure ;  a  word  from  you  is  enough.  Wo 
Hre  too  happy  to  be  of  any  service  to  you." 

"I  thank  you  for  your  kindness.  It  is  arranged,  then: 
to-morrow  morning  early."  And  so  saying,  Herr  von  Vlier- 
beke  entered  the  farm-house ;  and  after  giving  some  order? 
with  respect  to  the  baskets  which  had  been  taken  out  of  the 
carriage,  he  struck  into  the  wood  which  stretched  from  the 
farm  to  Grinselhof. 

So  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight  of  the  farmer,  his  counte- 
nance assumed  a  freer  expression,  and  a  cheerful  smile  lighted 
up  his  face  as  he  looked  about  apparently  in  search  of  some 
one  in  this  solitude.  Suddenly  his  eyes  fell  on  the  sleeping 
girl.  As  if  under  the  influence  of  some  magic  power,  his 
iteps  became  slow  and  cautious,  and  he  finally  stood  still, 
gazing  with  rapture  at  his  child. 

How  beautiful  was  the  sleeping  girl  I  Her  wavy  locks  lay 
in  graceful  disorder  on  her  cheeks;  the  setting  sun  cast  « 


S70  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

mellow  radiance  around  her,  and  bathed  her  in  its  rich  wana 
glow.  The  Indian  jessamine  had  dropt  some  of  its  blos- 
soms upon  her  head,  and  strewed  the  ground  with  its  white 
cups.  She  still  dreamed,  and  a  smile  of  calm  happiness 
dimpled  her  features,  while  her  lips  moved  and  whispered 
some  scarcely  articulate  words — as  if  her  soul,  too  full  of  joy, 
had  wished  to  unburden  itself  by  utterance.  Herr  von  Vlier- 
beke  stood  long,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe,  and  caressing 
with  loving  eyes  that  sweet  and  maidenly  creature.  With 
deep  feeling  he  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  said — 

"  Thanks  be  to  Thee,  0  Almighty  God  !  she  is  happy.  Lei 
me  be  for  ever  miserable ;  but,  oh,  may  my  suffering  make 
Thee  merciful  to  her  I  Thy  favour  and  protection  for  my  child 
is  all  I  ask.     May  this  her  sweet  dream  be  true,  0  God  I " 

After  this  short  but  fervent  supplication,  he  sat  down  on  the 
chair  which  stood  near  her,  and  cautiously  leaning  his  arm  upon 
the  table  to  support  his  head,  he  gazed  on  bis  daughter  with  a 
smile  of  joy  and  admiration.  Her  virgin  beauty  must  have 
been  to  him  a  source  of  intense  happiness,  for  its  miraculous 
power  seemed  in  a  moment  to  dispel  his  sufferings  and  anxiety. 
He  kept  his  eye  fixed  intently  upon  her,  with  an  indescribable 
rapture ;  and  the  changing  emotions  which  played  over  the 
girl's  features  were  repeated  in  his,  as  in  a  faithftd  mirror. 
Suddenly  a  deep  blush  suffused  her  brow;  her  lips  moved 
again  with  more  distinctness  ;  her  father  watched  them  with 
eager  attention;  and  though  she  had  said  nothing  audibly, 
he  was  yet  able  to  distinguish  one  of  those  empty  soundless 
words  which  had  vanished  into  the  air  with  her  breath. 

With  a  pleasure  equal  to  hers,  he  added — 

"  Gustav  I — she  dreams  of  Gustav  I  Her  heart  is  one  with 
mine  ;  may  all  go  well — may  God  look  on  us  propitiously  I 
Yes,  my  child,  open  thy  heart  to  the  delicious  feeling  of  hope 
•lone— dream  on  1    But  who  knows  ?    Yet  I  will  not  imbit> 


THX  POOX  HOBLEMAH.  S71 

ter  these  sweet  moments  by  the  cold  image  of  reality.  Sleep 
OD,  sleep  on,  and  let  thy  soul  bathe  itself  in  the  magic  stream 
of  a  budding  love  ! " 

HeiT  von  Vlierbeke  sat  for  some  time  in  still  contemplation 
of  the  young  girl ;  then,  rising,  went  behind  her,  and  im- 
printed a  long  kiss  upon  her  brow.  Still  half  dreaming,  she 
opened  her  eyes  slowly;  but  scarcely  had  she  perceived  who 
had  roused  her,  than  she  sprang  up,  and  throwing  her  arms 
round  her  father,  hung  on  him  affectionately,  and  asked  him 
all  sorts  of  questions  in  the  midst  of  her  tender  caresses. 
The  nobleman  turned  from  his  daughter,  and  said,  with  a  sly 
jest — 

"  I  suppose,  Lenora,  I  need  scarcely  ask  to-day  what  beau- 
ties yon  haTe  discovered  in  Vondel's  Lucifer  f  You  cannot 
have  had  time,  I  fear,  to  begin  a  comparison  of  this  master- 
piece of  our  language  with  Milton's  Paradise  Lostt" 

"  Ah,  father,  I  do  not  know  what  is  wrong  with  me  to-day ; 
but  I  have  such  singular  feelings — feelings  which  I  cannot 
describe.     I  have  not  been  able  to  read  with  attention." 

"  Well,  Lenora,  do  not  trouble  yourself  about  it.  Sit  down, 
my  child,  I  have  something  important  to  say  to  you.  You  do 
not  know  why  I  went  to  town  to-day  ? — we  have  guests  to- 
morrow." 

She  was  astonished  at  this  news,  and  looked  at  her  father 
with  surprise. 

"  It  is  Herr  Denecker  who  is  to  be  our  visitor  to-morrow ; 
the  wealthy  merchant  who  sits  near  us  at  church,  and  lives  in 
Echelpoel  Castle." 

"  Yes ;  I  know  him  very  well.  He  has  always  a  kind 
greeting  for  me,  and  hands  me  out  of  the  carriage  when  we 
stop  at  the  church-door.     But" — 

"Your  eyes  ask  whether  he  comes  alone.  No,  Leuora, 
■ome  one  accompanies  him." 


S7t  TALEB  OF  FLEMISH  LTFB. 

"  Gustav  ?"  sbe  exclaimed,  while  a  Hnsh  of  modeirty  orw- 
■pread  her  brow. 

"  Yes,"  replied  her  father,  "  it  is  Gustav.  Do  not  tremble 
or  be  alarmed,  my  child,  because  your  soul  is  now  for  the  first 
time  opening  itself  to  a  new  sentiment.  Between  you  and 
me,  there  can  be  no  secret  which  my  deep  love  cannot  pene- 
trate." 

The  maiden  looked  into  her  father's  eyes,  and  seemed  to 
seek  the  solution  of  this  mysterious  language  in  his  mild  and 
amiable  expression.  Suddenly,  as  if  her  heart  had  been  en- 
lightened all  in  a  moment,  she  threw  her  arms  round  his 
neck,  and  said,  with  fervent  gratitude — 

**  Father,  dear  father,  your  goodness  is  infinite  I " 

For  a  time  the  nobleman,  with  joy  depicted  on  his  counte- 
nance, held  his  daughter  in  his  embrace ;  but  gradually  an 
expression  of  deep  sadness  overspread  his  features,  and  a  tear 
glistened  in  his  eye,  as  he  said  with  emotion — 

"  Lenora,  whatever  occurs  in  life,  and  whatever  misfortunes 
await  us,  you  will  ever  love  your  father  as  you  do  now,  will 
you  not?" 

"  Always  I  always  I" 

"  Lenora,  my  child,"  sighed  the  father,  "  your  sweet  affec- 
tion is  my  only  joy  on  earth — my  very  life.  Do  not  rob  my 
soul  of  this  consolation." 

The  melancholy  tones  of  his  voice  so  alarmed  the  maiden 
that  she  took  his  hand  affectionately  in  hers,  and,  laying  her 
head  on  his  Iwreast,  began  to  weep  in  silence. 

For  some  minutes  they  remained  in  this  position  without 
stirring  a  limb,  and  overpowered  by  something  which  could 
be  called  neither  joy  nor  sorrow,  but  mysteriously  partook  of 
both  these  feelings.  The  father's  countenance  was  the  first 
to  alter  its  expression ;  he  looked  serious,  and  shook  his  head, 
as  if  reproaching  himself.     In  truth,  the  singular  words  which 


THE  POOB  NOBLEMAN.  S7d 

had  drawn  tears  from  his  daughter's  eyes,  had  been  prompted 

by  the  thought  that  another  would  one  day  share  his  child' « 
affection,  perhaps  estrange  it  entirely  from  him.  Keady  for 
any  sacrifice,  even  if  it  were  disproportionately  great,  which 
could  in  the  least  contribute  to  his  child's  happiness,  still, 
the  idea  of  such  a  separation  painfully  affected  him. 

"  Come,  come,  Lenora,"  he  said  caressingly,  "  be  cheerftil 
and  happy  again.  There  is  a  happiness  sometimes  in  unbur- 
dening our  souls  when  an  excess  of  feeling  oppresses  them. 
Let  us  go  in ;  I  have  still  much  to  tell  you  to  prepare  you 
for  receiving  our  guests  in  a  proper  way." 

Both  approached  the  house  with  slow  steps,  but  a  few  tears 
■till  lingered  in  Lenora's  beautiful  eyes. 

Some  hours  later,  Herr  von  AHierbeke  sat  in  the  largest 
room  in  the  house,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  table,  on  which 
stood  a  little  lamp.  The  apartment,  which  was  only  lighted 
in  one  place,  while  all  the  corners  were  lost  in  a  deep  gloom, 
had  something  dismal  and  deathlike  about  it.  The  flickering 
flame  of  the  lamp  threw  its  light  in  long  streaks  upon  the 
walls,  conjuring  up  spectre-like  forms  out  of  the  darkness, 
while  the  old  portraits  kept  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  table  with 
an  obstinate  stare.  The  fine  and  calm  countenance  of  the 
nobleman  was  the  only  object  which  stood  out  from  the  appall- 
ing gloom.  His  bright  eye  appeared  to  be  gazing  intently 
into  the  darkness,  and  he  sat  like  an  immovable  statue,  ap- 
parently listening  attentively  to  catch  some  expected  sound. 
At  last  he  rose  quietly,  and,  noiselessly  approaching  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  he  applied  his  ear  to  the  lock  of  a  door. 

"  She  sleeps,"  he  whispered  to  himself^  and  then,  as  he 
raised  his  head,  looked  upward,  and  said — 

"  May  God  guard  her  repose  1" 

Approaching  the  table^  he  took  the  lamp  in  bit  huid,  and 


274  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

opened  a  press  which  was  fitted  into  the  wall.  Kneeling 
down,  he  took  from  a  drawer  some  napkins  and  a  table-cloth, 
unfolded  them,  and  looked  at  them  with  a  scrutinizing  glance 
to  see  that  they  were  free  from  any  stain.  A  smile  of  satis- 
faction showed  that  he  was  pleased  with  the  result  of  his  ex- 
amination. 

He  then  took  out  a  little  basket,  and  placii^g  it  on  the 
table,  brought  a  rag  and  a  piece  of  chalk  from  a  drawer,  and 
breaking  the  latter  with  the  handle  of  the  knife,  he  began  to 
rub  and  furbish  the  silver  knives  and  forks  which  lay  in  the 
basket.  He  did  the  same  with  the  salt-cellar  and  other  little 
dishes,  which  were  chiefly  of  silver,  and  which,  with  their 
thin  embossed  ornaments,  gave  the  appearance  of  considerable 
wealth. 

While  he  was  engaged  in  this  humble  occupation,  his  mind 
was  given  up  entirely  to  the  past.  The  fixedness  of  his  face 
and  eyes,  although  now  and  then  he  looked  round  timidly  and 
anxiously,  showed  that  he  was  sunk  in  deep  reflection.  From 
time  to  time  his  lips  moved,  and  half  audibly  uttered  some 
words  in  impressive  and  afiecti';:nate  tones ;  words  evidently 
associated  with  beloved  memories,  for  they  were  always  accom- 
panied by  a  smile.  He  had  named  all  the  names  which  had  been 
dearest  to  him  on  earth,  and  perhaps  enjoyed  again  the  pure 
happiness  of  bis  youth.  His  voice  became  clearer  as  he  sighed — 

"  Poor  brother !  one  man  alone  knows  what  I  did  for  you, 
and  he  dares  to  call  you  an  ingrate  and  a  deceiver ;  while  you, 
sick  and  sorrowing,  wander  forlorn  the  wide  plains  of  North 
America.  For  small  recompence,  you  roam  over  the  wastes 
and  prairies,  where  for  months  you  are  never  cheered  by  the 
sight  of  a  human  face.  You,  a  nobleman  like  myself,  are  the 
servant  of  the  Saxon ;  and  for  a  scanty  subsistence  procure 
the  fars  which  serve  to  adorn  the  persons  of  the  wealthy. 
Ah,  bitter  are  the  sufferings  I  have  endured,  and  still  endure^ 


THE  POOR  WOBLEMAR.  tli 

tat  your  sake ;  bnt  God  is  my  witness,  that  love  of  you  still 
lives  undiminished  in  my  heart.  May  your  soul,  0  my 
brother  I  while  you  sit  and  mourn  amid  these  solitary  plains, 
feel  this  sigh  of  mine,  and  may  its  sympathy  console  thee  in 
thy  misery  I " 

The  nobleman  sat  for  a  time  sunk  in  contemplation  of  his 
brother's  fate  ;  at  last,  by  an  effort  he  dispelled  these  thoughts, 
and  fixed  his  attention  exclusively  on  his  work.  He  laid  the 
silver-plate  on  the  table,  and  said  musingly — 

"  Six  forks  and  eight  spoons,  and  four  of  us  sit  down  to 
table ;  things  must  be  well  managed,  otherwise  there  will  be 
a  deficiency  somewhere.  Still,  it  will  suffice ;  I  shall  give 
the  farmer's  wife  particular  instructions  ;  and  she  is  a  clever 
woman." 

During  the  latter  part  of  this  soliloquy,  he  had  shut  up 
everything  again  in  the  cupboard.  Then  taking  the  lamp 
in  his  hand,  he  left  the  room  slowly  and  cautiously,  and  de- 
scending a  few  steps  into  a  large  vault,  he  opened  a  little 
door  which  led  into  a  low  cellar,  which  he  had  to  stoop  to 
enter.  Aided  by  the  light,  he  groped  among  a  great  many 
empty  bottles,  till  he  found  the  object  of  his  search;  and 
taking  three  bottles  out  of  the  sand,  he  said,  with  a  pale  and 
anxious  face — 

"  Heavens !  only  three  bottles  of  table  wine  I  No  more ; 
and  they  say  that  Herr  Denecker  has  a  pride  in  drinking 
freely  I  What  am  I  to  do  when  these  three  bottles  are 
emptied,  and  more  are  needed  ?  I  drink  none,  and  Lenora 
little,  so  two  bottles  for  Kerr  Denecker  and  one  for  his 
nephew  may  perhaps  be  enough.  Complaining  cannot  mend 
the  matter,  however ;  I  must  hope  the  best." 

Without  saying  anything  further,  the  poor  nobleman  went 
to  the  opposite  coraer  of  the  cellar,  and  collecting  there  a  few 
cobwebs,  he  hung  them  artfully  over  the  three  bottles,  sprink- 


276  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

ling  a  little  sand  over  them  at  the  same  time.  Returning  to  the 
room,  lie  pasted  tlie  paper  on  the  wall  wherever  it  happened 
to  be  a  little  loose.  Then,  after  he  had  brushed  his  clothes 
for  half  an  hour,  and  had  done  his  best  to  conceal  the  shabby 
parts,  especially  about  the  knees  and  elbows,  with  ink  and 
water,  he  again  sat  down  by  the  table,  and  applied  himself 
to  a  still  more  singular  occupation.  He  took  a  strong  thread, 
a  cobbler's  awl,  and  a  bit  of  rosin,  out  of  a  drawer,  laid  his 
boot  on  his  lap,  and  began  like  an  experienced  shoemaker  to 
sew  the  rent. 

This  work  must  have  awakened  sad  thoughts  in  him,  for  he 
smiled  contemptuously  at  times,  as  if  he  took  a  bitter  pleasure 
in  self-mockery.  A  violent  internal  struggle,  hdwever,  soon 
made  itself  visible  on  his  countenance ;  the  blush  of  shame 
alternated  with  the  paleness  of  mental  agony,  till  he  at  last 
hastily  cut  the  thread,  threw  the  boot  on  the  table,  rose,  and 
stretching  out  his  hands  towards  the  portraits  on  the  wall, 
exclaimed,  with  a  suppressed  but  feeling  and  earnest  voice — 

"  Yes,  look  on  me,  ye  whose  noble  blood  runs  in  my  veins  I 
Thou,  Field- Marshal,  who  for  thy  fatherland  offered  up  thy 
life  by  Egmont's  side,  on  the  field  of  St.  Quentin  I  thon, 
Statesman,  who,  after  the  battle  of  Pavia,  didst  render  such 
distinguished  service  to  the  Emperor  Charles  I  thou.  Bene- 
factor of  mankind,  who  didst  endow  so  many  churches  I  thou, 
Prelate,  who,  as  Priest  and  Scholar,  didst  so  manfully  defend 
the  church  of  thy  God  I  look  on  me,  not  alone  out  of  that 
dead  canvas,  but  from  heaven,  where  now  you  are  I  He  who 
sits  here  patching  his  boots,  concealing  his  wretchedness  in  the 
stillness  and  solitude  of  the  night,  he  is  your  son — the  last  re- 
presentative of  your  illustrious  line  I  If  he  quails  before  the  eye 
of  man,  before  you  at  least  he  is  not  ashamed  of  his  humiliation. 
0  my  ancestors  I  with  sword  and  pen  you  have  striven  against 
the  enemies  of  your  fatherland,  while  I  struggle  here  againit 


THE  POOB  NOBLEMAN.  377 

mockery  ard  unmerited  contempt,  without  hope  either  of  victory 
or  of  fame.  I  suffer,  and  my  soul  wears  away  with  my  suffer- 
ings ;  and  the  world  awards  me  nothing  but  mockery  and  con- 
tempt. And  yet  I  have  not  cast  a  stain  upon  your  arms ;  what 
I  have  done  is  good  and  virtuous  in  the  sight  of  God.  Love, 
compassion,  and  generosity,  are  the  sole  causes  of  my  misfor- 
tune. Yes,  yes,  direct  your  eyes  on  me ;  behold  how  sunk 
I  am  in  poverty  I  And  yet  out  of  the  depths  of  my  humilia- 
tion, even  before  you,  I  will  proudly  raise  my  head,  and  my 
eyes  shall  not  sink  before  your  glance.  Here,  in  your  pre- 
sence, I  am  alone  with  my  soul — with  my  conscience ;  and 
here  I  feel  that  no  shame  can  touch  him  who  is  a  martyr  to 
his  duty  as  Noble,  brother.  Christian,  and  father  I " 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke  was  quite  carried  away  by  his  excite- 
ment; walked  up  and  down  the  room  with  long  strides, 
pointing  in  quick  succession  with  his  hand  to  the  portraits  of 
his  fathers.  There  was  something  majestic  in  his  mien ; 
with  head  erect,  he  looked  a  prince ;  his  dark  eyes  sparkled 
in  the  gloom,  his  fine  countenance  was  full  of  dignity,  and 
his  expression  and  whole  bearing  was  manly,  even  grand. 
Suddenly  he  stood  still,  laid  his  hand  upon  his  brow,  and 
muttered,  with  a  sad  smile — 

"Poor  fool  I  thy  soul  seeks  more  room;  it  would  fain 
burst  the  narrow  limits  which  its  degradation  imposes ;  and 
dreams" — 

Clasping  his  hands  and  looking  towards  heaven,  he  said — 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  delusion ;  but  still,  I  thank  Thee,  good  God, 
that  Thou  hast  caused  courage  and  patience  to  spring  up  in 
my  soul  I  Enough ;  reality  again  stands  before  me,  like  a 
grim  skeleton  grinning  at  me  from  out  the  darkness ;  but 
now  I  am  strong,  and  can  laugh  at  the  stem  spectre  of  de- 
spair." 

As  the  recollection  of  his  actnal  circnmstanoei  rocnrre^ 


S78  TILES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

to  him,  dejection  was  again  depicted  on  his  features,  and  let- 
ting his  head  sink  upon  his  brbast,  he  uttered  a  sigh  of  painful 
anxiety. 

"  And  to-morrow — to-morrow  will  the  eye  of  man  again  look 
distrustfully  upon  thee ;  thou  wilt  tremble  before  the  wonder- 
ing and  curious  looks  of  those  who  seek  to  solve  the  problem 
of  thy  acts ;  thou  wilt  drain  once  more  with  full  draughts  the 
cup  of  shame.  Still,  learn  well  thy  part ;  calculate  every  ex- 
pression of  thy  face — play  on,  to  the  last  scene,  the  coward 
farce.  And  be  mindful  of  thy  noble  race,  that  thou  mayest  be 
ready  to  bleed  in  every  vein  of  thy  heart,  and  die  a  hundred 
deaths  I  Go,  thy  night's  work  is  done — go,  and  seek  repose, 
and  forget  in  sleep  what  thou  art,  and  what  awaits  thee. — 
Mockery  I  yonder  is  the  stage  of  thy  final  abasement ;  yonder 
thou  mayest  see  a  stranger  take  possession  of  the  estate  of  thy 
forefathers ;  the  cold  and  heartless  laugh  over  thy  ruin — over 
thy  flight  from  thy  fatherland  with  thy  only  child,  to  seek  the 
bread  of  wretchedness  in  a  distant  country. — Sleep  1  it  makes 
me  tremble — the  bond  I — the  bond!" 

Repeating  this  word  with  increasing  agony,  he  put  aside 
everything  that  was  on  the  table,  and  taking  the  lamp  in  his 
hand,  disappeared  through  a  door  which  apparently  led  to  hii 
chamber. 


TOOB  NOBLElUa,  tTf 


^  CHAPTER  IIL 

On  the  following  day,  so  soon  as  the  morning  dawn  colonredi 
the  sky,  every  one  about  Grinselbof  was  in  activity;  the 
farmer's  wife  and  her  maid  scoured  the  steps  and  passages ; 
the  farmer  cleaned  the  stable,  and  his  son  hoed  and  weeded 
the  approach.  Lenora  was  early  in  the  dining-room  busy 
cleaning  it,  and  arranging  tastefully  the  furniture  and  various 
little  ornaments. 

There  was  more  life  and  movement  than  had  been  seen  in 
Grinselbof  for  ten  years ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  people  of  the 
farm-house  enjoyed  the  novelty  of  the  work  in  an  especial 
manner — for  there  was  visible  on  their  faces  a  kind  of  tri- 
umphant expression,  as  if  they  imagined  that  they  were 
waging  a  successful  war  with  the  deathlike  solitude  which 
had  reigned  here  so  long  undisturbed. 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  although  in  his  heart  more  excited 
than  any  of  the  others,  walked  up  and  down  with  an  assumed 
indifference,  going  from  one  to  another,  directing  their  opera» 
tions,  and  encouraging  them  now  and  then  with  a  kind  and 
amiable  word,  without  confessing  even  to  himself  that  he  was 
nervously  anxious  about  the  preparations  for  this  eventful 
day.  With  a  smiling  countenance,  he  flattered  the  self-love 
of  these  simple  people,  by  telling  them,  in  a  jocular  way,  that  it 
was  an  ^.onour  to  them  if  his  guests  showed  themselves  satis- 
fied with  their  reception.     The  farmer  and  his  wife  had  never 


TALES  OF  FLEMISH  UFI. 

Been  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  so  cheerful  and  commnnicatiye ;  and 
as  they  really  loved  and  honoured  him  from  their  hearts,  they 
w*4re  in  as  high  spirits  as  if  they  had  been  at  a  Grinselhof 
festival.  They  did  not  perceive  that  this  more  than  ordinary 
kindness  and  good-will  on  the  part  of  the  poor  nobleman  was 
an  effort  to  repay  them  for  their  willing  labour,  since  he  could 
not  afford  to  remunerate  them  in  any  other  way. 

When  the  heaviest  work  was  done,  and  the  sun  was  now 
pretty  high  in  the  heavens,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  called  his 
daughter  down,  and  gave  her  very  minute  directions  about 
cooking  the  food  ;  telling  her  at  the  same  time  to  look  after  it 
now  and  then,  and  explain  to  the  farmer's  wife  how  she  should 
prepare  certain  dishes,  which  she  had  never  seen  before. 

The  fire  was  lighted  in  the  old  stove  ;  the  wood  blazed  and 
crackled  in  the  fireplace ;  the  coals  glowed  in  the  grate,  and 
the  smoke  rolled  in  playful  volumes  over  the  roof. 

The  basket  was  unpacked,  the  stuffed  fowl,  the  meat-pie, 
and  other  exquisite  dishes  taken  out ;  then  whole  baskets  of 
pease  and  beans,  and  other  vegetables  were  brought  in  ;  and 
the  women  began  to  clean  and  prepare  them.  Lenora  herself 
took  part  in  this  work,  and  chatted  pleasantly  the  while  with 
the  farmer's  wife  and  the  maid.  The  latter,  who  had  very 
rarely,  indeed,  had  a  close  view  of  the  young  girl,  and  had  not 
at  any  time  been  more  than  a  few  moments  in  her  presence, 
was  never  tired  gazing,  with  a  species  of  wonder  and  profound 
veneration,  at  her  beautiful  maiden  features,  her  slender  form, 
and  her  bright,  sparkling  eyes  ;  and  these  emotions  were  still 
more  vividly  depicted  on  her  face,  when  Lenora  dreamily  sung 
a  few  verses  of  a  well-known  popular  ballad.  The  maid  rose 
from  her  chair,  approached  her  mistress  shyly,  and  said  in  a 
low  and  beseeching  tone,  but  loud  enough  for  Lenora  to  cver- 
hear  her — 

**  Ah,  mistress,  beg  the  young  lady  to  sing  a  bit  of  that 


THE  POOR  NOBLEMAW.  J81 

ballad ;  I  heard  it  yesterday,  and  oh  I  it  was  so  beautiful  that 
I  could  not  help  weeping  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after,  be- 
hind the  hazel-bushes." 

"  0  do  ! "  begged  the  farmer's  wife  of  Lenora ;  "  if  it  is  not 
too  much  trouble  to  you,  Miss,  you  would  give  us  so  much 
pleasure  ;  you  have  a  voice  like  a  nightingale,  and  I  remem- 
ber well  that  my  dear  mother — she  is  long  since  with  God — 
used  always  to  hush  me  asleep  with  that  very  song." 

"  It  is  so  long,"  replied  Lenora,  smiling. 

"  If  it  were  only  a  few  verses,"  she  replied  ;  "  this  is  such 
a  happy  day  with  us  all." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Lenora,  "  if  it  will  give  yon  pleaaurej 
why  should  I  refuse  ?    Listen,  then." 

THE  ORPHAN  GIRLl 

Swiftly  but  gently  flowed  the  etreaia, 

So  flowed  a  maiden's  tears. 
Who  by  the  river  wailing  sat. 

Few  were  that  maiden's  yean. 

Idly  into  the  stream  she  flung 

The  blossoms  by  her  side ; 
And  "  Father  dear !  ah,  brother,  come  I 

Most  piteously  she  cried. 

A  youthful  knight  by  chance  o'erhawd 

The  moan  which  she  did  make ; 
H«  wept  and  paused  to  learn  her  grie( 

And  vowed  her  part  to  take. 

*  What  ails  thee,  dearest  child,"  he  saU^ 

**  Coine,  tell  thy  grief  to  me ; 
If  this  stout  arm  can  lend  thee  aid. 

It  shall  not  lacking  be." 

She  raised  her  sad  and  heavy  eye. 

And  sighed,  "  0  brave  young  man  I 
My  grief  is  great,  no  mortal  hand 

Oan  aid— God  only  can. 

**  See'st  thou  the  grassy  mound  hard  %;f  >» 

It  is  my  mother's  grave ! 
ft«ok  on  this  stream— my  father  dnt 

U«8  deep  beneath  its  wavtt  t 


nt  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

"Th«  wild  stream  swept  him  with  iti  I 

My  brother  plunged  to  save — 
In  Tain,  in  vain  !— he  also  saiA, 
And  found  a  watery  grave ! 

•  Now  have  I  left  my  lonely  cot, 

Where  naught  but  sorrow  dwell*  "<— 
io  tad  and  simple  is  the  tale 
The  maid  despairing  tells. 

•  Ho  longer  weep,"  then  spake  the '. 

"Let  all  thy  care  have  end. 

And  find  in  me,  0  maiden  fair  f 

Thy  father,  brother,  friend." 

Then  gently  grasp'd  her  hand,  and  eall'4 

The  Orphan  Girl  hia  bride ; 
And  cloth'd  her  gay  in  wedding  robw 

There  by  the  river  side. 

Of  food,  and  drink,  and  raiment  now. 

And  Joy  she  hath  full  stor^— 
Praise  to  the  gallant  youth  who  did 

So  brave  a  deed  of  yore  !* 

At  the  beginning  of  the  last  verse,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  had 
made  his  appearance  at  the  kitchen  door,  and  the  fanner's 
wife  had  risen  respectfully,  and  seemingly  afraid  that  he  might 
be  angry  at  what  had  happened ;  on  the  contrary,  he  had 
given  his  daughter  a  sign  to  finish  the  song.  When  she 
had  stopped,  he  said  in  a  kindly  tone — 
.  "  Ah,  I  am  delighted  to  find  you  all  so  happy  here.  I  should 
like  your  assistance  for  a  few  minutes  up  stairs,  my  good 
woman." 

Both  now  went  up  stairs  to  the  room  above,  where  the 
cloth  was  laid  for  dinner,  and  found  that  the  young  peasant 
had  already  taken  his  place  there,  dressed  in  his  old  livery, 
and  with  a  napkin  thrown  over  his  arm.  After  the  nobleman 
had,  by  a  short  address,  convinced  the  mother  and  son,  that 
what  he  was  going  to  do  had  this  special  object — namely, 


*  TUB  popular  ballad,  known  by  the  name  of  Die  Waise,  Is  much  sung  in  the  '. 
The  melody  is  sad  but  sweet  and  pleasing,  and  as  Willens  has  remarked  {Oude  Vlaemitcht 
Liederen,  p.  223),  has  »  great  resemblance  to  Oatalani's  favourite  song;  "  Ifsl  cor  jrfi, 
mom  mi  Mmte."    It  ii  preeminently  an  indigenous  Oerman  ballad. 


THE  POOR  NOBLEMAN.  28& 

their  gaining  credit  for  their  able  service  at  table,  be  began 
to  play  a  real  comedy,  and  made  each  go  through  their  parts 
several  times.  He  especially  drilled  them  in  changing  the 
plates  and  spoons  with  great  rapidity,  and  was  bo  skilful  in 
letting  all  the  casualties  and  emergencies,  which  he  feared, 
happen,  as  if  naturally,  during  this  lesson,  that  he  at  last 
could  stop  the  rehearsal  with  a  pretty  confident  anticipation 
that  all  would  go  well. 

At  last  the  hour  of  dinner  approached ;  everything  was 
ready  in  the  kitchen,  and  every  one  in  his  place.  Lenora 
was  dressed,  and  waited  with  throbbing  heart  behind  the 
curtain  of  a  side  window.  Her  father  sat  with  a  book  under 
a  chestnut-tree,  and  feigned  to  read,  and  thus  concealed  hii 
rising  anxiety  from  the  farm-people. 

About  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  a  splendid  carriage, 
drawn  by  beautiful  English  horses,  entered  the  grounds  of 
Grinselhof,  and  drew  up  before  the  house-door.  The  noble- 
man greeted  his  guests  with  that  bland  dignity  which  was 
peculiar  to  him,  and  made  some  cheerful  remarks  ;  while  the 
merchant  gave  orders  to  his  coachman  to  call  for  him  precisely 
at  five  o'clock,  as  he  had  still  to  go  to  the  city  on  business 
which  could  not  be  postponed. 

Herr  Denecker  was  a  stout  man,  whose  dress,  though  very 
rich,  seemed  to  be  arranged  with  a  careful  neglect,  in  order 
to  give  him  an  independent  exterior ;  his  face  was  not  very 
significant ;  it  bore  the  marks  of  a  certain  shrewdness,  and 
also  of  considerable  goodness  of  heart,  which,  however,  had 
perhaps  never  been  allowed  a  fair  field  of  action  on  account 
of  the  indifference  which  was  a  leading  feature  in  his  char- 
acter. 

The  whole  appearance  of  his  nephew,  Gustav,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  noble ;  to  a  fine  form,  and  an  independent,  manly 
ooontenance,  he  added  an  education  of  the  highest  order,  and  ia 


984  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  IHSU 

refinemont  of  manners  and  expression  was  scarcely  excelled 
even  by  the  nobleman  himself.  His  fair  hair  and  darfc^blue 
eyes  gave  something  poetic  to  his  countenance,  while  his  firm 
collected  look,  and  a  few  slight  wrinkles  on  his  brow  indicated 
that  he  was  richly  endowed  with  intellect  and  feeling. 

With  the  customary  phrases  of  politeness,  Herr  von  Vlier- 
beke  conducted  his  guests  into  the  room  on  the  ground-floor, 
where  his  daughter  awaited  their  arrival.  The  merchant 
greeted  her  with  a  friendly  laugh,  and  exclaimed  with  genuine 
admiration — 

"  So  beautiful  and  charming,  and  to  be  shut  up  in  Grin 
selhof  I     Ah,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  this  is  not  right  I" 

Meanwhile  Qustav  approached  the  beautiful  girl,  and  uttered 
a  half-inarticulate  greeting.  The  brows  of  both  were  suJBftised 
with  blushes,  -and  their  eyes  fell ;  but  the  young  man  quickly 
regained  his  presence  of  mind,  and  began  to  converse  with 
Lenora  intelligently. 

The  merchant  directed  Herr  von  Vlierbeke's  attention  to 
their  mutual  embarrassment,  and  whispered  in  his  ear — 

"  Do  you  see  what  is  going  on  there  ?  My  nephew  does 
not  know  whether  his  head  is  off  or  on  ;  the  young  lady  puts 
out  his  eyes.  I  do  not  know  how  far  the  affections  of  these 
two  young  people  have  been  already  engaged.  If,  however, 
you  do  not  look  favourably  upon  its  growth,  and  a  pretty  early 
maturity  too,  it  would  be  well  to  pay  attention  to  it  betimes, 
otherwise  it  will  soon  be  too  late.  For,  I  assure  you,  that 
my  nephew,  with  his  quiet  countenance,  is  not  a  youth  to 
see  an  obstacle.  See,  they  talk  together  now  easily ;  their 
mutual  fear  is  gone." 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke  felt  deeply  moved  by  the  merchant'! 
words,  because  they  strengthened  his  last  hopes  of  deliver- 
ance ;  but  concealing  his  feelings,  he  replied — 

**Toa  are  jesting,  Herr  Denecker;  there  is  bo  harm  in 


THE  POOB  NOBLEMAK.  S85 

their  intercourse  ;  they  are  both  young,  and  it  is  not  Burpris- 
ing  that  a  slight  affection  shoulH  spring  up  between  them. 
It  is  of  no  importance." 

"  Come,"  he  then  said  with  a  loud  voice,  "  the  dinner  is  on 
the  table  ;  let  us  go." 

Gustav  shyly  offered  Lenora  his  arm,  and  blushing,  and 
with  a  slight  trepidation,  she  took  it.  Both  seemed  perplexed, 
and  yet  there  beamed  from  the  eyes  of  both  an  inexpressible 
joy,  and  their  hearts  beat  fast  with  a  feeling  of  rapture. 
The  uncle  held  his  finger  up  to  his  nephew,  shaking  it  with 
feigned  displeasure,  as  if  he  would  say,  "  I  see  already  what 
is  going  on  there."  This  made  the  young  man  redden  still 
more,  although  the  manifest  approbation  of  his  uncle  at  the 
same  time  filled  his  heart  with  sweet  hopes ;  besides,  Lenora 
had  fortunately  not  observed  the  movement. 

They  took  their  seats — the  nobleman  opposite  Herr  De- 
necker,  and  beside  Gustav,  who  again  sat  opposite  Lenora. 

The  farmer's  wife  carried  up  the  dinner,  and  her  son  in 
livery  waited  the  table.  The  dishes  were  pretty  well  pre- 
pared, and  the  merchant  more  than  once  testified  his  satisfac- 
tion with  them.  The  good  food,  and  especially  its  abundance, 
took  him  by  surprise,  for  he  had  expected  a  very  meagre  din- 
ner, as  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  was  decried  in  the  whole  neigh- 
bourhood as  an  avaricious  and  niggardly  miser. 

The  conversation  was  now  general,  and  consequently  Lenora 
felt  more  at  ease  in  replying  to  the  merchant's  remarks,  and 
astonished  both  the  guests  by  the  signs  she  gave  of  a  well- 
cultivated  and  refined  intellect.  It  was  quite  otherwise,  how- 
ever, when  she  had  to  reply  directly  to  Gustav;  then  her 
self-possession  seemed  all  at  once  to  desert  her;  and  with 
downcast  eyes  she  had  not  courage  to  give  him  anything  but 
an  abrupt  and  unmeaning  reply.  The  young  man  himself 
did  not  fare  much  better:  both  felt  deeply  happy  in  their 


286  TILES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

hearts :  and  yet  one  would  have  thought  that  they  did  not 
enjoy  themselves  very  much. 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  meanwhile,  led  the  conversation  to 
subjects  of  a  kind  which  he  thought  would  be  agreeable  to  his 
guests.  With  the  greatest  complaisance  he  listened  to  the 
merchant,  and  gave  him  opportunity  to  speak  of  things  with 
which,  as  a  merchant,  he  was  likely  to  be  well  acquainted. 
His  guest  perceived  this  kindness,  and  thanked  him  for  it  in 
his  heart.  The  merchant  felt  himself  attracted  to  Herr  von 
Vlierbeke  with  a  genuine  feeling  of  friendship,  and  endea- 
voured to  vie  with  him  in  politeness. 

Thus  everything  went  well :  everybody  was  pleased  with 
himself  and  his  company ;  above  all,  it  was  gratifying  to  the 
nobleman  to  see  the  mother  and  son  understand  their  duties 
so  well :  they  took  away  the  plates  and  spoons  which  had 
been  used,  and  brought  them  back  clean  with  such  expedition, 
that  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  perceive  that  there  wa< 
a  deficiency.  One  thing  alone  was  the  source  of  some  uneasi 
ness  to  the  nobleman.  He  looked  with  anxiety  as  Hen 
Denecker  emptied  one  glass  of  wine  after  another,  during  tht 
conversation.  The  young  gentleman,  too,  frequently  askec 
Lenora  to  drink  more  wine,  either  out  of  mere  kindness, 
or  that  he  might  have  occasion  to  address  her;  and  so  it 
happened,  that  the  first  bottle  was  nearly  drained  before  the 
dinner  was  well  begun.  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  meanwhile, 
took  stolen  glances  at  the  liquor  which  still  remained,  and 
trembled  secretly  every  time  he  saw  the  merchant  empty  his 
glass.  The  attendant  had  now  to  produce  the  second  bottle 
at  the  nobleman's  order,  and  the  latter  gradually  let  the  con- 
versation flag,  that  he  might  not  increase  the  merchant's  thirst, 
for  he  perceived  that  his  guest  could  not  speak  without  per- 
petually carrying  the  wine  to  his  lips.  He  saw  himself 
sadly  mistaken,  however,  for  Hen  Denecker  tamed  the  oos» 


POOR  NOBLEMAS.  9%1 

versation  to  the  subject  of  wine  itself — began  to  praise  the 
noble  juice,  and  to  express  his  surprise  at  the  nobleman^s  ex- 
traordinary abstemiousness.  Meanwhile  he  drank  moTe  than 
ever,  and  was  supported  in  his  potations  by  Gustav  also,  who, 
however,  drank  much  more  moderately. 

The  anxiety  of  the  nobleman  increased  with  every  draught 
which  the  merchant  took,  and  he  restrained  from  pledging 
him,  although  it  was  most  painful  to  him  to  do  so,  and  showed 
himself  in  this  one  point  at  least  inhospitable,  through  fear  of 
a  greater  shame.  When  the  second  bottle  was  finished,  the 
merchant  said  in  a  light  easy  tone  to  Herr  von  Vlierbeke, 
who,  with  a  weight  at  his  heart,  though  to  appearance  merry 
and  gay,  was  narrowly  watching  his  guest's  progress — 

"  Yes,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke ;  the  wine  is  old  and  tempting  i 
I  confess  that ;  but  one  must  change  when  drinking,  other- 
wise it  is  impossible  to  enjoy  the  flavour.  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  you  have  a  capital  cellar,  if  I  may  judge  from 
this  specimen.  Let  us  have  a  bottle  of  CMteau-Margaux ; 
and  if  we  have  time  after  that,  we  shall  close  our  meeting 
with  a  draught  of  Hochheimer.  I  never  drink  champagne ; 
it  is  a  poor  wine  to  connoisseurs." 

While  the  merchant  was  speaking,  a  sudden  pallor  over- 
spread the  Bobleman's  face ;  but  in  order  to  conceal  his  alarm, 
he  rubbed  his  brow  and  eyes  for  a  minute,  exerting  his  mind 
at  the  same  time  to  discover  some  way  out  of  this  difficulty. 
When  his  guest  concluded,  the  nobleman  took  his  hand  from  his 
face,  and  a  quiet  smile  was  all  that  could  be  perceived  on  it. 

''^  CMteau-Margaux  f^^  said  he.  "As  you  please,  Herr 
Denecker."  Then  turniug  to  the  servant,  he  said,  "  John,  a 
bottle  of  CMteau-Margaux.     Left  hand,  third  row." 

The  peasant  youth  stared  at  his  master  as  if  he  were  ad- 
dressing him  in  an  unknown  tongue,  and  muttered  some  unin- 
telligible words. 


S8S  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  the  nobleman  rising.  "  He  does  not 
know  where  to  find  it— a  moment  I " 

He  descended  the  stairs,  and  entering  the  kitchen,  took  np 
the  remaining  bottle,  and  carried  it  with  him  to  the  cellar. 
Here  finding  himself  alone,  he  stood  still  and  drew  a  deep 
breath,  while  he  said  to  himself — 

"  ChdteaU'Margauxy  Hochheimer,  Champagne !  Nothing 
in  the  house  except  this  last  bottle  of  Bordeaux.  What  shall 
I  do  ?  There  is  no  time  to  reflect  I  The  die  is  cast— may 
God  help  me  I " 

He  now  ascended  the  stairs,  and  re-entered  the  dining-room 
smiling,  and  with  the  screw  in  the  cork  of  the  only  remaining 
bottle.  Meanwhile,  Lenora  had  ordered  other  glasses  to  be 
brought. 

"  This  wine  is  fully  twenty  years  old ;  I  hope  it  will 
please  you,"  said  the  nobleman,  while  he  filled  the  glasses. 
Trembling,  he  watched  the  merchant's  face  as  he  tasted 
it.  The  latter  had  scarcely  put  the  gla&s  to  his  lips,  when 
he  withdrew  it  again,  with  an  air  of  discontent,  and  ex- 
claimed— 

"  There  is  some  mistake  here  :  it  is  the  same  wine." 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke  likewise  tasted  the  wine,  with  an  as- 
sumed expression  of  doubt  on  his  face,  and  then  exclaimed, 
as  if  taken  by  surprise — 

"  It  is  as  you  say — I  have  made  a  mistake.  However,  ai 
we  have  begun  this  bottle,  we  shall  empty  it  first.  We  have 
plenty  of  time." 

"  As  you  please,"  replied  the  merchant ;  "  but  on  condition 
that  you  drink  more  freely,  and  help  me.  We  can  stay  « 
little  later  than  we  ii^tended." 

In  this  way  the  wine  gradually  disappeared  in  the  third 
bottle  likewise,  so  that  only  a  glass  or  two  remained. 

The  nobleman  could  no  longer  conceal  his  agitation ;  h« 


THE  POOR  NOBLEMAN. 

tnmed  away  from  the  bottle,  "but,  spite  of  himself,  his  looks 
always  returned  to  it.  Already  there  rang  in  his  ears  the 
dreadful  word,  Chdteau-Margaux — the  word  which  was  to 
cover  him  with  shame.  The  cold  perspiration  broke  from 
every  pore ;  the  colour  of  his  face  changed  several  times  in 
the  same  instant ;  yet  his  shifts  were  not  yet  exhausted,  and 
he  struggled  bravely  against  the  approaching  exposure  of  his 
poverty.  By  rubbing  his  face  and  brow  with  his  hands  and 
pocket-handkerchief,  by  coughing  and  turning  round  at  times, 
as  if  he  would  sneeze,  and  by  other  devices  of  a  similar  kind, 
he  succeeded  in  concealing  his  agitation,  and  escaping  the 
notice  of  his  guest«,  till  Herr  Denecker  put  his  hand  on  the 
bottle  to  drain  it  of  its  last  glass  of  wine.  When  the  nobleman 
saw  this,  he  shuddered ;  and  growing  deathly  pale,  covered 
his  face,  and  with  a  long  sigh,  let  his  head  sink  slowly  on  the 
arm  of  the  oh  air. 

Was  it  a  feigned  swoon,  or  was  the  nobleman  only  making 
use  of  his  real  agitation  and  alarm  to  help  himself  out  of  hig 
painful  difficulty? 

All  rose.  Lenora  uttered  a  shriek,  and  hastened  to  her 
father's  side  with  an  anxious  countenance  ;  while  he,  raising 
himself  slowly  up,  endeavoured  to  smile,  and  said — 

"  It  is  nothing;  I  feel  the  atmosphere  here  suffocating;  let 
me  go  into  the  open  air  for  a  minute,  and  I  shall  soon  be 
better." 

So  saying,  he  left  the  room,  and  descended  the  front  steps 
into  the  garden.  Lenora  had  taken  his  arm  to  help  him  down, 
although  he  had  no  particular  need  of  her  assistance;  and 
Denecker  and  his  nephew  followed  with  faces  expressive  of 
deep  concern. 

After  the  nobleman  had  sat  for  a  few  minutes  under  the 
shade  of  the  old  jessamine,  the  paleness  disappeared  from 
his  face,  and  with  a  steady  and  lively  voice  he  said  to  hii 


290  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIF&. 

gnests,  ttafc  he  felt  quite  better,  but  would  ask  their  per- 
mission to  remain  for  a  time  in  the  open  air,  lest  the  faint 
should  return ;  and  soon  after,  standing  up,  he  expressed  a 
desire  to  walk. 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,"  said  the  merohant,  "  for  at 
five  o'clock  my  carriage  comes,  and  I  must  urive  with  my 
nephew  into  the  city ;  and  I  should  not  like  to  leave  without 
first  seeing  your  grounds.  Let  us  walk  about  a  little,  and 
then,  before  going,  we  shall  drink  in  front  of  the  castle,  a  good 
bottle  of  wine  to  our  lasting  frien'\ship."  At  these  words  he 
offered  his  arm  to  Lenora,  who  took  it  frankly.  Although 
Herr  Denecker  had  a  wish  by  doing  so  to  tease  his  nephew  a 
little,  the  young  man  was,  in  truth,  not  at  all  displeased  to 
see  his  uncle  show  such  a  liking  for  the  object  of  his  own 
attachment. 

The  walk  commenced,  agriculture,  the  enclosure  of  the 
heath,  the  chase,  and  various  other  topics,  formed  in  succession 
the  subjects  of  conversation.  Lenora,  who,  now  that  she  was 
in  the  open  air,  felt  all  her  freedom  and  vivacity  return  to  her, 
put  no  longer  any  restraint  upon  herself.  The  cheerful  serenity 
and  virgin  purity  of  her  nature  were  now  revealed  in  all  their 
charm.  Like  a  playful  young  roe,  she  wished  to  make  the 
merchant  run ;  and  skipping  gaily  by  his  side,  she  was  lavish 
of  every  demonstration  of  genial  and  hearty  enjoyment  of  life. 
Herr  Denecker  was  excessively  charmed  with  the  high  spirits 
of  the  girl,  and  almost  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  to 
dance  and  play :  he  could  not  gaze  sufficiently  at  Lenora's 
fascinating  countenance,  which  indeed  had  already  given  birth 
in  his  breast  to  a  very  pleasing  sensation  ;  and  he  remarked  to 
himself,  while  a  smile  played  upon  his  lips,  that  his  nephew 
had  a  pretty  good  taste. 

While  the  nobleman,  however,  was  busy  explaining  some- 
thing to  hig  guest,  and  drawing  a  sketch  on  the  ground,  Lenora 


THE  POOR  NOBLEMAH.  S91 

and  Gustav  had  walked  off  a  little  way,  and  seemed  engaged 
in  a  very  earnest  conversation.  When  the  father  and  his 
guest  again  renewed  their  walk,  the  young  people  were  fully 
fifty  yards  in  advance,  and,  either  by  intention  or  accident, 
this  distance  between  the  two  parties  was  henceforth  main- 
tained. 

Lenora  showed  Gustav  her  flowers,  her  gold  fishes,  and 
everything  which  she  loved  and  tended  in  her  solitude.  He 
scarcely  distinguished  her  sweet  and  childlike  words,  for  what 
ihe  said  seemed  to  vanish  at  the  very  moment  it  reached  his 
ears,  and  melt  away  into  a  kind  of  heavenly  music,  which 
filled  him  with  enchanting  dreams,  and  transported  his  soul 
into  a  region  of  unutterable  bliss. 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  again,  on  his  part,  gave  himself  incon- 
ceivable trouble  to  entertain  his  guest,  and  keep  him  in  a 
cheerful  humour,  that  he  might  drive  from  his  recollection 
any  intention  which  might  still  linger  there  of  returning  to  the 
table ;  he  called  into  requisition  all  his  extensive  knowledge, 
— told  him  remarkable  stories,  and  endeavoured  to  penetrate 
the  innermost  folds  of  the  merchant's  breast,  that  he  might 
know  how  to  please  him — nay,  even  when  the  conversation 
showed  symptoms  of  flagging,  he  began  to  make  jests,  and 
said  and  did  things,  which,  it  is  true,  were  perfectly  becom- 
ing, but  far  removed  from  his  usually  dignified  and  earnest 
manner. 

The  time  was  now  approaching  which  Herr  Denecker  had 
fixed  for  his  departure.  The  nobleman  was  thanking  God, 
from  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  that  He  had  enabled  him  to 
get  through  his  difficulties  thus  far  so  successfully,  when  the 
merchant  suddenly  turned  to  his  nephew,  and  said — 

"  Now,  Gustav,  we  are  going  in  to  drink  a  parting  cup 
do  not  lose  time,  it  is  already  five  o'clock." 

Again  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  grew  pale,  and  looked  with  a 


299  TALBI  OF  FLEMISH  UFE, 

visible  expression  of  alarm  at  the  merchant,  who  could  not 
understand  the  effect  which  his  words  seemed  to  have  on  hif 
host,  and  did  not  conceal  his  surprise — 

"  Do  you  feel  unwell  ?*'  he  asked. 

"  I  take  a  pain  in  the  stomach  sometimes  at  the  mere  men- 
tion of  the  word  u?ing,"  stammered  Herr  von  Vlierbeke ;  "  it 
is  a  peculiar,  nervous  pain." 

Suddenly  his  countenance  assumed  a  livelier  expression, 
and  pointing  with  his  finger  towards  the  gate,  he  said — 

"  There,  I  hear  your  carriage,  Herr  Denecker." 

The  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door  of  Grinselhof. 

The  merchant  said  no  more  about  the  wine,  but  he  thought 
it  singular  tnat  his  departure  should  give  such  manifest 
pleasure  ;  and  doubtless  this  suspicion  would  have  seriously 
offended  him,  had  not  the  extremely  friendly  manner  and 
hospitable  reception  of  the  nobleman  convinced  him  of  the 
contrary.  He  could  not  ascribe  his  un  politeness  to  any  other 
cause  but  his  indisposition,  which  he,  perhaps  out  of  considera- 
tion for  his  guests,  had  been  making  great  efforts  to  conceal. 
Accordingly  Herr  Denecker  said  affectionately,  as  he  pressed 
the  nobleman's  hand — 

"  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  I  have  spent  a  particularly  agreeable 
afternoon  with  you  :  in  your  society,  and  that  of  your  amiable 
daughter,  one  feels  truly  happy.  I  am  overjoyed  to  have 
made  your  acquaintance,  and  I  hope  that  a  nearer  connexion 
may  one  day  secure  me  your  friendship.  Meanwhile,  let  me 
thank  you  for  your  very  kind  and  fiiendly  reception." 

Gustav  and  Lenora  meanwhile  approached,  while  the  noble- 
man was  uttering  a  few  words  in  polite  disavowal  of  his  guest'i 
complimentary  language. 

"  And  my  nephew,"  continued  the  merchant,  "  is,  I  am 
sure,  of  my  opinion,  that  few  hours  of  his  life  have  been  so 
pleasant  as  those  which  we  have  spent  to-day  at  GrinselhoC 


THE  POOR  NOBLEMAN.  898 

YoTi  mil  likewise  do  me  the  honour,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke, 
to  dine  with  me,  in  company  with  your  amiable  daughter, 
though  I  am  forced  to  postpone  this  pleasure  for  a  little.  1 
go  to  Frankfurt  to-morrow  on  business,  and  shall  be  absent 
probably  for  some  months.  In  the  meantime,  my  nephew 
will  do  himself  the  honour  of  visiting  you  frequently,  and  I 
hope  he  will  continue  to  be  welcome." 

The  nobleman  repeated  his  friendly  expressions.  Lenora 
was  silent,  although  Gustav  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  seemed 
to  ask  some  encouragement.  The  uncle  moved  towards  the 
carriage. 

"  And  the  parting  cup?"  said  Gustav  with  surprise.  "Pray 
let  US  go  in  for  a  little  yet." 

"  No,  no  I "  said  Herr  Denecker ;  "  were  I  to  wait  till  you 
were  willing  to  leave,  I  suppose  we  should  not  be  gone  to-day. 
But  it  is  high  time  to  be  off;  so,  say  nothing  more  about  it; 
a  merchant  must  keep  his  appointments,  and  you  know  your- 
self what  we  have  promised." 

Gustav  and  Lenora  exchanged  a  long  look,  in  which  could 
easily  be  read  sorrow  that  they  should  part  so  soon,  and  the 
mutual  hope  of  meeting  again  ere  long.  The  nobleman  and 
Herr  Denecker  shook  hands  heartily  and  affectionately,  and 
then  both  guests  stepped  into  the  carriage. 

Laughing  in  a  friendly  way,  and  kissing  their  hands  slb 
long  as  they  were  within  sight,  the  itrangen  left  Grinselhof, 


294  tALBSi  OF  FLEMISH  UFl. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

On  the  second  day  after  his  uncle's  departure,  Gustav  pre- 
sented himself  at  Grinselhof.  Father  and  daughter  received 
him  as  kindly  as  on  the  former  visit ;  and  having  spent  the 
greater  part  of  the  afternoon  in  their  society,  he  returned  to 
Echelpoel  Castle  at  the  approach  of  evening,  with  his  heart 
full  of  warm  recollections. 

At  first  he  did  not  venture  to  show  himself  often  at  Grin- 
selhof;  either  from  a  feeling  of  propriety,  or  because  he  was 
afraid  of  being  troublesome  to  the  nobleman.  Before  two 
weeks  had  elapsed,  however,  the  hearty  way  in  which  the 
nobleman  always  received  him,  dispelled  the  feeling,  whatever 
it  was ;  and  the  young  man  no  longer  resisted  the  longing 
which  drew  him  so  powerfully  to  Lenora's  side.  No  day 
passed  without  a  visit  to  Grinselhof;  and  there,  the  too  swift 
hours  glided  away  in  a  calm  and  dreamy  happiness.  He 
took  pleasure  walks  with  Lenora  and  her  father,  through  the 
shady  paths  round  Grinselhof;  was  present  at  the  instructions 
which  the  father  gave  his  daughter  in  many  arts  and  sciences ; 
listened  with  rapture  to  the  maiden's  beautiful  voice  as  she 
sang  her  favourite  songs  ;  entered  into  instractive  conversation 
with  both,  or  sat  under  the  jessamine  dreaming  of  a  happy 
future  ;  while  he  gazed  with  loving  eyes  at  the  young  maiden, 
who,  he  earnestly  hoped — in  fulfilment  of  the  ardent  prayers 
which  he  continually  offered  to  God — ^should  one  day  be  Ids  wife. 


THE  FOOB  NOBLEMAN.  S95 

Lenora's  noble  and  charming  conntenance  had  first  at- 
tracted him  ;  but  now,  when  he  perceived  the  beanty  of  her 
soul,  his  feeling  for  her  became  so  fervent,  so  unbounded, 
that  the  whole  universe  seemed  to  him  colourless  and  dead, 
when  the  loved  object  was  not  present  to  throw  a  light 
and  a  glory  over  everything.  To  him  no  angel,  depict- 
ed in  the  finest  sacred  poetry,  could  be  half  so  beautiful  as 
his  virgin  friend.  And,  indeed,  while  she  was  adorned  with 
all  the  personal  beauty  with  which  the  Creator  must  have 
clothed  the  first  woman,  there  beat  in  her  bosom  a  heart 
whose  mirror-like  purity  had  never  been  dimmed  by  the 
smallest  breath  of  the  world,  and  out  of  which,  at  the 
slightest  touch,  feeling,  fresh  and  ardent,  sprang  like  a  clear 
fountain. 

Gustav  had  never  been  quite  alone  with  Lenora,  as  she 
never,  in  his  presence,  left  the  room  in  which  she  usually  sat 
with  her  father,  unless  the  latter  expressed  a  wish  to  walk 
in  the  open  air  ;  yet  the  young  man  felt  no  desire  to  conceal 
his  affection  from  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  or  to  tell  the  maiden 
how  entirely  her  image  filled  his  soul.  It  would  indeed  have 
been  superfluous  to  express  in  words  what  was  passing  in  the 
hearts  of  each.  Love,  friendship,  respect,  beamed  from  the 
eyes  of  all ;  three  souls  lived  here,  in  one  sentiment,  united 
by  one  bond,  blended  in  the  same  feeling  of  affection  and 
hope. 

Although  Gustav  felt  a  deep  reverence  for  Lenora's  father, 
and  loved  him  truly  like  an  affectionate  son,  there  was  yet 
one  thing  which  threatened  to  disturb  his  high  estimation  of 
him.  What  he  had  heard  in  the  neighbourhood,  of  the  ex- 
cessive niggardliness  of  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  had  now  become 
to  him  a  certainty.  On  no  occasion  had  the  nobleman  offered 
him  a  glass  of  wine,  or  invited  him  lo  eat  the  evening  meal 
with  himself  and  his  daughter  j  on  the  contrary,  Guitav  had 


296  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

often  observed  with  grief  tlie  great  efforts  wliicli  were  madt 
to  conceal  from  him  this  unexampled  stinginess. 

Avarice  is  a  passion  which  is  universally  visited  with 
abhorrence  and  contempt,  because  one  almost  instinctively 
perceives  that  the  moment  this  vice  begins  to  show  itself,  it 
renders  all  nobility  in  the  human  heart  Impossible,  and  fills  it 
instead  with  a  cold  and  coarse  selfishness.  Gustav  accordingly 
had  to  struggle  long  with  his  feelings,  before  he  could  bring 
himself  to  overlook  this  failing  of  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  and  to 
convince  himself  that  it  was  only  a  caprice  in  him — a  mere 
aberration  of  judgment,  which  had  left  unharmed  the  native 
nobility  of  his  character.  Had  the  young  man  only  known 
the  truth  1  Had  he  only  been  able  to  look  further  into  the 
nobleman's  heart,  then  would  he  have  seen  that,  behind  that 
smile,  a  sorrow  lay  concealed ;  and  that  every  tremor  which 
shook  those  nervous  features,  was  the  expression  of  the  agony 
of  a  soul  which  was  afraid  of  exposing  its  secret.  He  knew  not, 
happy  youth,  that  while  he  sunned  himself  in  Lenora's  eyes,  and 
sipped  so  sweetly  from  the  golden  cup  of  love,  the  nobleman's 
life  was  a  perpetual  suffering,  that  he  dreamt  day  and  night 
of  a  horrible  future,  and  with  the  sweat  of  agony  on  his  brow 
counted  the  hastening  hours,  as  if  every  minute  brought  him 
nearer  to  some  fearful  and  unavoidable  calamity.  And,  in- 
deed, had  not  the  Notary  said  to  him — "  Only  four  months  I 
only  four  months,  and  the  bond  falls  due  I  then  will  your  pro- 
perty be  sold  by  auction  by  order  of  a  court  of  law?" 

Of  these  four  momentous  months  two  had  already  passed. 

If  the  nobleman  appeared  to  encourage  the  young  man's 
love,  it  must  be  confessed  that  it  was  not  entirely  from  affec- 
tion towards  him.  No,  no  ;  the  drama  of  his  sufferings  must 
be  played  out  within  a  limited  time.  If  it  did  not,  then  the 
fate  which  awaited  himself  and  his  child  was  open  shame — 
moral  death.    Within  that  period,  deftiny  would  irreTocably 


THE  POOB  NOBLEUAK.  MT 

determine  wbether  he  was  to  emerge  victoriously  out  of  this 
ten  years*  struggle  with  misery,  or  sink  overwhelmed  under 
the  public  obloquy. 

On  this  account  he  all  the  more  carefully  concealed  hia 
poverty ;  and  although  he  watched  like  a  guardian  angel  over 
both  young  people,  he  yet  did  nothing  to  check  the  speedy 
development  of  their  mutual  love. 

When  the  time  fixed  for  Herr  Denecker's  return  arrived,  the 
two  months  of  his  absence  seemed  to  Gustav  to  have  fled  like 
a  dream.  Although  he  was  quite  convinced  that  his  uncle 
would  have  no  objections  to  the  prosecution  of  his  love,  he  yet 
foresaw  that  he  would  not  permit  him  to  devote  so  much  time 
to  it :  and  the  thought  of  being  separated  from  Lenora,  per- 
haps for  weeks,  made  him  look  forward  to  his  uncle's  return 
with  no  little  anxiety  and  vexation.  He,  on  one  occasion^ 
communicated  his  fears  to  Lenora  with  much  sadness,  and 
painted  vividly  the  sorrow  with  which  even  a  temporary  sepa- 
ration from  her  would  fill  him.  For  the  first  time  he  saw 
tears  in  her  eyes.  This  token  of  affection  moved  him  so  deeply, 
that  he  silently  took  her  hand,  and  sat  for  a  long  time  by  her 
side  without  uttering  a  word.  Meanwhile,  Herr  von  Vlier- 
beke  endeavoured  to  console  him,  but  his  words  seemed  in- 
effectual. After  a  long  silence,  Gustav  rose  to  take  leave, 
although  the  usual  hour  of  departure  had  not  arrived.  The 
maiden  read  in  his  countenance  that  a  change  had  taken  place 
in  his  mind,  and  that  his  features  were  lighted  up  with  an 
unaccountable  vivacity  and  joy.  She  sought  to  detain  him  in 
order  to  discover  the  ground  of  his  apparent  cheerfulness.  But 
he  escaped  with  a  few  friendly  remarks,  simply  telling  her 
that  she  would  probably  learn  his  secret  on  the  following  day. 
He  then  left  Grinselhof  with  hasty  steps,  as  if  some  over- 
whelming purpose  was  driving  him  on. 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke  believed  that  he  had  read  in  the  young 


fSS  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

man's  eyes  what  was  passing  in  his  heart;  and  beautiful 
dreams  made  the  nobleman's  sleep  calm  and  sweet  that  night. 
On  the  following  day  when  the  usual  hour  of  Gustav's  visit 
arrived,  the  father's  heart  beat  high  with  expectation.  He 
saw  Gustav  pass  through  the  gate  and  approach  the  house. 

The  young  man's  dress  was  not  on  this  occasion  composed 
of  light  materials,  as  was  usual.  He  was  clothed  entirely 
in  black,  as  on  the  day  on  which  he  first  visited  Grinselhof. 
A  cheerful  smile  played  round  the  nobleman's  features  as  he 
went  to  meet  his  visitor,  for  the  choice  of  the  dress  had  con- 
firmed his  hopes,  and  convinced  him  that  Gustav  had  come  on  a 
solemn  errand — indeed,  formally  to  solicit  his  daughter's  hand. 

Gustav  expressed  a  wish  to  see  him  for  a  few  minutes  alone. 
Herr  von  Ylierbeke  led  him  into  a  side-room — offered  him  a 
chair — sat  down  opposite  him,  and  said — 

"  I  am  prepared  to  listen,  my  young  friend." 

Gustav  kept  silence  for  a  time,  as  if  he  would  collect  hig 
thoughts,  and  then  began  with  visible  anxiety,  but  at  the  same 
time  with  firmness — 

"  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  I  venture  to  take  a  very  important 
step  with  you,  and  it  is  your  extreme  kindness  alone  which 
gives  me  the  necessary  courage;  and  I  hope  that,  let  the 
answer  be  what  it  may,  you  will  at  all  events  excuse  my 
boldness.  It  cannot  have  escaped  your  notice,  sir,  that  from 
the  first  day  on  which  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  see  Lenora, 
my  heart  has  been  filled  with  an  irresistible  love  for  her — for 
she  appeared  to  me  then,  and  appears  now,  an  angel.  Per- 
haps, before  permitting  this  feeling  to  gain  such  entire  poeses- 
sion  of  me,  I  ought  to  have  asked  your  consent ;  but  I  could 
not  but  suppose,  from  the  polite  and  friendly  way  in  which 
you  always  received  me,  that  you  had  read  my  heart  I " 

The  young  man  paused,  in  the  hope  of  receiving  some  en- 
couragement from,  the  nobleman.    The  latter,  however,  only 


THE  POOR  NOBLEMAN. 

kx>iEed.  at  him  with  a  quiet  smile,  in  which  it  was  impossible 
to  read  how  he  received  the  young  man's  declaration.  A  wave 
of  his  hand,  as  if  he  would  say,  "  Go  on,"  was  the  only  reply. 
Gustav  felt  his  confidence  entirely  forsake  him  for  a  moment, 
but  immediately  mastering  his  fears,  he  took  courage,  and 
said  with  fervour — 

"  Yes,  I  have  loved  Lenora  since  the  moment  in  which  her 
eyes  first  met  mine ;  she  lighted  then  a  spark  of  love  in  my 
bosom,  which  has  since  become  a  flame,  and  which  would  con- 
sume me  entirely  if  any  one  should  try  to  smother  it.  It 
may  be,  sir,  that  you  imagine  that  her  beauty  alone  is  the 
ground  of  my  love?  Certainly  this  ground  is  sufficient  to 
make  even  the  most  unimpressible  love  her :  but  I  have  dis- 
covered, in  the  heart  of  this  angel,  a  treasure  far  transcending 
that — her  virtue,  the  unspotted  purity  of  her  soul,  her  gentle 
and  high-toned  sensibility — the  gifts  with  which  God  has  so 
lavishly  endowed  her — these  are  the  things  which  have  led 
me  from  admiration  to  love,  and  froni  love  to  worship.  Ah  I 
why  then  conceal  it  longer  ?  Without  Lenora,  life  is  impos- 
sible— the  very  thought  of  separation  from  her  fills  me  with 
Badness,  and  makes  me  tremble  :  I  must  see  her  daily,  hourly 
— hear  her  voice,  and  drink  in  happiness  from  her  looks.  I  do 
not  know,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  what  your  decision  may  be  ; 
but  if  it  is  not  favourable,  believe  me,  my  heart  will  be  broken 
for  ever.  Were  you  to  separate  me  from  my  beloved — my 
uweet  Lenora,  it  would  be  a  fatal  blow — life  would  be  for  ever 
hateful  to  me." 

With  deep  emotion  and  great  emphasis  Gustav  had  uttered 
these  words.  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  took  his  hand  sympathiz- 
ingly,  and  said — "  Do  not  be  alarmed,  my  young  friend ;  I 
know  that  you  love  Lenora,  and  that  your  love  is  requited ; 
but  what  do  you  wish  from  me  ?" 

With  downcast  eyes  the  young  man  anawered— "  H  after 


800  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

mil  tlie  tokens  of  your  affection  wbicli  I  bave  received,  I  still 
have  some  doubts  of  receiving  your  final  consent,  it  is  because 
I  am  conscious  of  one  fact  whicb  may,  I  fear,  make  you  tbink 
me  unwortby  of  enjoying  tbe  bappiness  wbicb  I  now  desire. 
I  have  no  family  tree  wbicb  strikes  its  roots  deep  into  tbe 
past;  tbe  deeds  of  my  ancestors  are  not  blazoned  in  tbe  his- 
tory of  our  country ;  tbe  blood  wbicb  flows  through  my  veins 
is  plebeian  blood. 

"  Do  you  tbink,  then,  Gustav,"  said  Herr  von  Vlierbeke, 
•*  that  I  did  not  know  that  before  you  began  to  visit  here  ?  Your 
heart  is  great  and  noble,  otherwise  I  would  not  have  loved 
you  as  my  son." 

"  Then,"  exclaimed  Gustav  with  joy,  "  you  will  not  deny 
me  Lenora's  hand,  if  my  uncle  also  gives  bis  consent  to  our 
union?" 

"  No,  I  would  not  in  that  case  deny  it.  I  would,  on  the 
contrary,  confide  my  child's  bappiness  to  you  with  the  great- 
est pleasure ;  but  there  is  an  obstacle  yet  unknown  to  you." 

"  An  obstacle ! "  sighed  the  young  man,  growing  pale.  "  An 
obstacle  between  me  and  Lenora  I " 

"  Moderate  your  ardour  for  a  minute,"  rejoined  von  Vlier- 
beke, "  and  listen  without  prejudice  to  what  I  shall  now  tell 
you.  You  believe,  Gustav,  that  Grinselhof  and  the  adjoining 
possessions  are  mine;  you  deceive  yourself;  we  possess  no- 
thing ;  we  are  poorer  than  the  farmer  who  lives  at  the  lodge." 

Tbe  young  man  looked  for  a  short  time  with  an  expression 
of  surprise  and  doubt ;  and  then  an  incr^edulous  smile  passed 
over  his  face,  which  made  tbe  nobleman  redden  and  tremble. 
He  resumed  with  anxious  emphasis — 

"  Ah,  I  read  in  your  eyes  that  you  have  no  faith  in  my 
words.  You  believe  me  to  be  a  miser,  a  man  who  conceals  hie 
gold,  who  exposes  himself  and  bis  child  to  want,  that  he  may 
neap  paltry  treasure  together,  and  who  sacrifices  everything^  U 


THE  POOR  MOBLEMAX.  SOI 

his  insatiable  ararice — a  selfish  being  who  is  either  feared  or 
despised," 

"Oh,  pardon  me  I"  exclaimed  Gustav  anxiously,  "my 
esteem  for  you  is  unbounded." 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed  at  my  words,"  said  the  nobleman,  more 
;almly.  "I  do  not  blame  you;  your  smile  convinced  me 
,hat  you  also  believe,  with  others,  that  I  use  poverty  as  a  cloak 
for  the  most  detestable  avarice.  For  the  present  it  is  unne- 
cessary to  enter  into  more  minute  details — what  I  have  said 
is  true  :  I  possess  nothing — literally  nothing  I  Keturn  home 
without  seeing  Lenora  :  consider  maturely,  with  coolness  and 
composure,  whether  no  grounds  exist  for  altering  your  resolu- 
tion ;  let  a  night  pass  over  your  head,  and  if  to-morrow  morn- 
ing you  can  still  love  the  poor  Lenora,  and  if  you  believe  that 
you  can  still  make  each  other  happy,  then  ask  your  uncle's 
consent.  Here  is  my  hand ;  you  may  press  it  then  as  the  hand 
of  a  father,  and  my  most  fervent  wishes  will  be  at  that  mo- 
ment fulfilled." 

The  solemn  and  calm  tone  in  which  these  words  were 
uttered,  convinced  Gustav  of  their  truth,  however  much  the 
information  they  conveyed  took  him  by  surprise;  and  his 
countenance  at  once  expressed  a  joyful  animation — 

"  If  I  can  love  the  poor  Lenora  I "  he  exclaimed.  "  To 
call  her  my  wife,  to  become  united  with  her  by  the  bond  of 
everlasting  love,  for  ever  to  draw  happiness  from  her  sweet 
looks  1  To  know  that  I  am  her  protector,  that  my  labour  con- 
tributes to  her  happiness  I  Palace  or  hut,  riches  or  poverty — 
everything  is  to  me  indifferent,  if  only  she  is  present  to  breathe 
a  soul  into  the  spot  where  I  am.  Night  can  bring  me  no 
counsel,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke ;  if  I  may  now  possess  Lenora's 
hand  through  your  generosity,  I  will  thank  yon  on  my  knees 
&>r  the  priceless  gift  I " 

"  I  believe  it,"  replied  the  nobleman.  "  This  fervent  passion, 


S03  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

this  steady  devotedness,  are  natural  to  your  youth  and  ardent 
disposition — but  your  uncle?" 

"My  nncle?"  muttered  Gustav,  visibly  annoyed.  "It  is 
true,  I  must  have  his  consent ;  what  I  possess  in  the  world, 
or  may  henceforth  possess,  depends  on  his  favour.  I  am  an 
orphan — his  brother's  son ;  he  took  me  when  a  child,  and  has 
loaded  me  with  benefits.  He  has,  therefore,  a  right  to  con- 
trol my  acts — I  must  obey  him." 

"  And  will  he,  who  is  a  merchant,  and  probably  sets  a  high 
value  on  money,  because  he  has  learnt  what  one  can  accom- 
plish with  it — will  he  likewise  say,  *  Poor  or  rich,  palace  or 
hut,  it  is  the  same'  ?" 

"  Ah,  I  cannot  tell,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,"  replied  Gustav, 
troubled  ;  "  but  he  is  so  kind  to  me,  so  extremely  kind,  that 
I  have  cause  to  hope  for  his  consent.  To-morrow  is  the  day 
of  his  return ;  at  our  very  first  meeting  I  shall  tell  him  of  my 
intentions,  and  say  that  my  peace,  my  happiness,  and  my  life 
depend  on  his  consent.  He  has  a  more  than  ordinary  regard 
and  affection  for  Lenora,  and  seemed  to  encourage  me  to  sue 
for  her  hand :  your  explanation,  it  is  true,  will  surprise  him 
very  much,  but  my  entreaties,  believe  me,  will  move  him." 

The  nobleman  rose  to  bring  the  conversation  to  a  close,  and 
said — "  Well  then,  ask  your  uncle  for  his  consent,  and  realize 
your  expectations ;  and  then  request  him  to  come  to  me  to 
enter  into  more  details.  Whatever  may  be  the  consequence, 
Gustav,  you  have  acted  towards  us  as  a  brave  and  honest 
youth  ought.  My  esteem  and  friendship  shall  certainly  al- 
ways remain  with  you. — Go,  leave  Grinselhof  for  once  without 
seeing  Lenora ;  she  cannot  again  be  in  your  presence  till  this 
matter  is  settled.  I  will  tell  her  what  she  ought  to  know 
of  it." 

Half  pleased  and  half  sad,  joy  and  anxiety  in  his  heart, 
Gnstny  took  leave  of  Lenora's  father. 


TBS  POOK  NOBLUCAJI.  SOS 


CHAPTEB  V. 

Ok  the  following  morning  Herr  "vcn  Vlierbeke  sat  by  % 
table  in  an  upper  room  of  the  Castle,  his  head  resting  on  his 
band.  He  must  have  been  in  deep  reflection,  for  his  eye 
wandered  unsteadily  and  unconsciously  from  object  to  object ; 
and  hope  and  pleasure,  sorrow  and  anxiety,  by  turns  revealed 
themselves  on  his  countenance. 

Lenora  made  her  appearance  in  the  room,  remained  for  a 
minute  in  a  wavering  and  uncertain  way,  went  from  one  side 
to  another,  looked'  through  the  window  into  the  garden,  and 
then  hastened  down  stairs  again.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
that  she  was  waiting  with  great  impatience  for  some  expected 
visit;  her  countenance,  however,  expressed  an  undisguised 
cheerfulness,  from  which  one  could  infer  that  her  heart  was 
full  of  the  sweetest  hopes.  Had  she  been  able  to  see  the 
anxiety  which  at  times  overspread  her  father's  face  in  the 
midst  of  his  musings,  she  would  not  perhaps  have  dreamt  so 
confidingly  and  cheerfully  of  a  happy  future ;  but  Herr  von 
Vlierbeke  carefully  concealed  his  sadness  when  she  was  pre- 
sent, and  laughed  gaily  apd  affectionately  at  her  impatience, 
as  if  he  also  looked  forward  with  confidence  to  the  events  of 
this  critical  day. 

At  last,  quite  tired  of  going  and  coming,  Lenora  sat  down 
beside  her  father,  and  gazed  into  his  face  with  a  clear  and  in- 
quiring look. 


804  TALES  OF  FLEMISH   LIFE. 

"  My  dear  Lenora,"  lie  said,  "  do  not  oe  so  impatient.  T»- 
day  we  can  hope  for  nothing  ;  to-morrow,  perhaps.  Moderate 
your  joy,  my  child,  and  then  your  sorrow  will  be  less  difficult 
to  overcome,  if  God  should  decide  in  this  matter  contrary  to 
your  hopes." 

"  Ah,  father,"  stammered  Lenora,  "  God  will  be  gracious 
to  me.  I  feel  in  my  heart  that  I  am  happy  ;  do  not  wonder 
at  it,  father.  I  see  Gustav  speaking  with  his  uncle — I  hear 
what  he  says,  and  Herr  Denecker's  reply.  I  see  him  embrace 
Gustav,  and  give  his  consent.  Surely  I  may  hope  the  best ; 
for  you  remember  Herr  Denecker  also  liked  me,  and  was  al- 
ways so  very  friendly  at  church." 

"  Would  you  be  very  happy  indeed  if  Gustav  were  to  be 
your  bridegroom  ?"  asked  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  smiling. 

"  Never  to  leave  him,"  exclaimed  Lenora ;  "  to  help  to 
make  him  cheerful  and  happy  1  To  infuse  life  into  the  solitude 
of  Grinselhof  with  our  love  I  And  then  to  sweeten  your  days, 
father  I  for  Gustav  understands  so  much  better  than  I  do  how 
to  chase  away  from  your  heart  the  melancholy  which  at  times 
darkens  your  countenance.  You  will  go  walking  and  hunting 
with  him,  talk,  and  be  merry ;  he  will  love  and  honour  you 
as  a  son,  and  tenderly  care  for  you.  His  great  object  on  earth 
will  be  to  make  you  happy,  because  he  knows  that  your  hap- 
piness is  mine;  and  I  will  reward  his  generous  nobleness, 
strewing  his  path  with  the  beautiful  flowers  of  a  grateful 
heart.  0  yes,  we  shall  live  together  in  a  paradise  of  peace 
and  love  I " 

"  Poor,  innocent  Lenora  ! "  sighed  Herr  von  Vlierbeke ; 
"  may  God  grant  yow  beautiful  wish  I  but  there  are  laws  and 
usages  which  regulate  the  world,  of  which  you  are  ignorant 
— a  woman  must  follow  her  husband  wherever  he  goes.  If 
Gustav  selects  you  to  be  his  wife,  you  must  obey  him  without 
renstance,  and  console  yourself  gradually  for  abienoe  froM 


THE  POOB  NOBLEMAlf.  805 

tm,  8aoH  a  separation  wonid  in  other  circnmstances  be  in- 
conceivably bitter  to  me ;  but  if  I  knew  yon  to  be  Happy,  I 
oonld  learn  to  bear  the  loneliness." 

Lenora  had  listened  to  her  father  with  surprise  and  alarm ; 
and  now  when  he  had  ceased  speaking,  she  let  her  head  sink 
slowly  on  her  breast,  and  shed  a  few  quiet  tears.  Herr  von 
Vlierbeke  took  her  hand,  and  said  with  a  gentle  voice — 

"I  knew,  Lenora,  that  I  was  saying  what  would  grieve 
you ;  but  you  must  accustom  yourself  gradually  to  the  thought 
of  this  separation," 

She  raised  her  head,  and  said,  in  a  firm  and  animated  tone — 

"  What— will  Gustav  wish  me  to  leave  you  ?  Shall  you  re- 
main by  yourself  at  Grinselhof,  and  spend  your  days  in  sad- 
ness and  solitude,  while  I  and  my  husband  enter  the  world, 
and  dwell  in  the  midst  of  gaiety  and  pleasure  ?  Then  would 
there  be  no  longer  one  peaceful  or  happy  moment  for  me; 
everywhere  the  voice  of  conscience  would  call  out  to  me, 
*  Ungrateful,  unfeeling  creature,  your  father  suffers  I '  Yes,  I 
love  Gustav ;  he  is  dearer  to  me  than  my  life,  and  I  would 
receive  his  hand  as  a  blessed  gift  from  God ;  and  yet,  if  he  said 
to  me  that  I  must  leave  my  father — choose  between  my  father 
and  him — I  would  reject  him  ;  weep,  mourn,  perhaps  die.  But 
in  your  eyes,  my  father  ". . . . 

She  hung  her  head  for  some  moments,  as  if  overwhelmed 
by  sad  and  desponding  thoughts ;  but  almost  immediately  she 
looked  up  at  her  father  with  spirit  and  energy  in  her  glance, 
And  said — 

"  You  doubt  Gustav's  affection  for  you  ;  you  consider  him 
capable  of  filling  your  life  with  sorrow,  of  separating  me  from 
you  ?  0  father,  you  do  not  know  him ;  you  do  not  know  how 
much  he  loves  you,  and  what  a  treasure  of  love  and  goodnesa 
his  heart  is." 

Herr  vo©  Ylierbeke  drew  his  somewhat  excited  daughter  t» 


806  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

his  side,  and  imprinted  a  kiss  en  her  brow.  He  was  aboat  to 
soothe  her  with  some  consolatory  words ;  bnt  suddenly  she  tor« 
herself  from  his  arms,  and  sprang  up  smiling  and  trembling. 
Pointing  with  her  finger  to  the  window,  she  seemed  to  listen 
to  an  approaching  sound. 

The  tramp  of  horses  and  the  roll  of  wheels  informed  Herr 
von  Vlierbeke  what  had  so  suddenly  disturbed  his  daughter ; 
and  with  a  joyful  countenance  he  hastened  down,  and  reached 
the  front  door  as  Herr  Denecker  stepped  out  of  his  carriage. 

The  merchant  seemed  to  be  in  very  good  humour,  and 
pressed  Herr  von  Vlierbeke's  hand  cordially,  as  he  said  to 
him — 

"  Ah,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  again. 
How  goes  it  with  you  ?  My  nephew  seems  to  have  known 
how  to  make  good  use  of  his  time  during  my  absence." 

While  he  was  being  conducted  by  the  nobleman  with  his 
usual  courtesy  to  a  room,  he  put  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
the  latter  in  a  friendly  way,  and  said,  laughing — 

"  Ha  I  ha  I  we  were  good  friends  before,  and  now  we  shall 
be  relations  ;  I  hope  so,  at  least.  My  rascal  of  a  nephew  has 
no  bad  taste,  I  confess.  He  might  search  far  before  he  found 
such  a  beautiful  and  charming  young  girl  as  Lenora.  Why, 
you  see,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  we  must  have  such  a  wedding 
as  will  be  spoken  of  for  twenty  years  to  come." 

Meanwhile  they  had  entered  a  side-room,  and  had  sat 
down.  Although  the  nobleman's  heart  beat  with  a  kind  of 
tiroid  joy,  he  did  not  venture  quite  to  believe  all  that  Herr 
Denecker's  manner  appeared  to  convey,  and  looked  at  him 
doubtingly.     The  merchant  continued — 

"  It  would  appear  now  as  if  Gustav  was  longing  with  a 
burning  impatience  to  complete  his  happiness,  for  he  has 
begged  me  on  his  knees  to  hasten  matters.  I  have  had  pity 
for  the  young  fool,  and  have  left  business  for  a  day,  and  com« 


THE  POOR  NOBLEMAN.  807 

nmning  here  tc  mate  the  necessary  arrangementa  at  once. 
He  has  told  me  that  you  have  given  your  consent ;  that  is 
well  done  on  your  part,  sir.  I  likewise  have  thought  over 
this  marriage  during  my  journey,  for  I  had  perceived  that 
love's  arrow  had  quite  pierced  my  nephew's  heart ;  but  I  was 
not  without  fear  regarding  your  intentions  ;  the  inequality  of 
rank — a  notion  of  older  times — might  have  been  an  objection." 

"  Gustav,  then,  has  informed  you  that  I  consent  to  his  mar- 
riage with  Lenora?"  asked  the  nobleman. 

"  He  has  not  surely  deceived  me?"  replied  Herr  Denecker 
with  surprise. 

"  No ;  but  did  he  say  nothing  else  which  in  your  eyes  must 
be  of  no  small  importance  ?" 

The  merchant  shook  his  head  laughing,  and  said,  in  a  jocn- 
lar  tone — 

"  Oh,  you  refer  to  that  good  joke  which  you  played  off  upon 
him  so  successfully ;  but  we  shall  very  soon  arrange  all  that. 
He  has  told  me  that  Grinselhof  does  not  belong  to  you,  and 
that  you  are  poor.  You  have,  however,  a  better  opinion  of 
my  understanding  than  to  think  that  such  jests  will  pass  for 
truth  with  me,  ha,  ha  I" 

The  nobleman  trembled  ;  his  hopes  had  risen  for  a  moment 
with  Herr  Denecker's  merry  and  confident  tone ;  he  had  im- 
agined that  he  knew  all,  and  was,  notwithstanding,  prepared 
to  fulfil  his  nephew's  wishes ;  but  what  he  had  said  showed 
him  that  he  must  enter  once  more  into  melancholy  explana- 
tions of  his  poverty ;  and  he  accordingly  braced  himself  for 
this  new  victory  over  his  pride. 

"  Herr  Denecker,"  he  said,  "  be  so  good  as  not  to  have  the 
slightest  doubt  of  what  I  am  about  tell  to  you.  I  am  quite 
willing  that  my  Lenora  should  be  married  to  your  nephew, 
but  I  declare  to  you  here  that  I  am  poor — extremely  poor  I" 

"What I"  exclaimed  the  merch^t;   "I  am  well  awaiv 


808  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LDTI. 

that  you  are  desperately  attached  to  yoiir  gold — that  ham  hetm 
long  known  ;  but  at  a  time  like  this,  surely — the  marriage  d 
your  only  child — ^you  ought  to  open  your  heart  and  purse  for 
once,  in  order  to  give  your  daughter  a  dowry  befitting  her 
position.  People  have  long  said — pardon  me  for  repeat- 
ing it — that  you  are  a  miser  as  it  is.  But  what  would  be 
said  were  you  to  let  your  only  daughter  be  married  dower- 
less?" 

The  nobleman  seemed  to  be  sitting  on  needles,  and  struggled 
painfully  with  the  jesting  incredulity  which  Herr  Denecker 
displayed,  and  which  did  not  permit  him  to  bring  this  un- 
happy subject  to  a  speedy  close  by  short  and  clear  statements. 
Almost  imploringly,  he  exclaimed — 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  sir,  spare  me  this  bitter  mockery;  I 
declare  to  you,  on  my  word  as  a  gentleman,  that  I  do  not 
possess  a  penny." 

"  Well,  then,"  replied  the  merchant  with  a  cunning  smile, 
"  we  shall  bring  the  thing  to  figures,  and  soon  see  whether 
the  proof  and  the  reckoning  agree.  You  imagine,  perhaps, 
that  I  have  come  hither  to  talk  you  over  to  make  a  great 
sacrifice  ;  not  so,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke.  God  be  thanked,  I  do 
not  require  to  drive  so  close  a  bargain ;  but  a  marriage  is  a 
transaction  which  two  enter  into  with  one  another,  and  in 
which  it  is  proper  that  both  parties  should  pay  a  little  into 
the  common  purse,  even  if  the  portions  be  unequal." 

"0  God  I"  sighed  the  nobleman. 

"  Listen,"  said  the  merchant ;  "  I  will  give  my  nephew  a 
hundred  thousand  francs,  and  he  will  remain  in  the  business, 
where  my  credit  will  be  of  great  value  to  him.  I  do  not 
wish,  indeed  I  could  not  permit,  that  you  should  endow 
Lenora  with  an  equal  sum.  Her  distinguished  birth,  and 
her  own  worth  more  than  overbalance  any  deficiei;icy  in  *ier 
mamage  portion.    But  the  half  of  that — say  about  fifij 


THE  POOB  NOBLEMAN.  809 

thousand  francs — ^yon  can  manage  to  give,  or  I  am  very 
much  deceived.     Let  us  shake  hands  on  this." 

The  nobleman  sat  on  his  chair  pale  and  trembling,  as  if  he 
had  unexpectedly  received  some  dreadful  blow  ;  in  a  troubled 
and  desponding  tone,  he  replied — 

"  Herr  Denecker,  this  conversation  is  more  than  I  can  bear  : 
cease  to  pain  me  so  much.  I  repeat  it,  I  possess  nothing ;  and 
since  you  compel  me  to  speak  before  I  know  your  determina' 
tion,  then  know  that  Grinselhof,  and  all  the  lands  appertain- 
ing, are  mortgaged  beyond  their  true  value.  It  is  unnecessary 
to  explain  to  you  how  these  debts  have  been  incurred,  it  is 
sufficient  to  assure  you  that  I  speak  the  truth  ;  and  I  request 
you,  before  we  proceed  further,  to  state  explicitly  to  me 
what  your  intentions  with  reference  to  your  nephew's  mar- 
riage may  be,  now  that  you  know  my  circumstances?" 

This  communication,  which  had  been  uttered  by  the  noble- 
man with  all  solemnity  and  emphasis,  still  failed  to  convince 
the  merchant.  A  little  astonishment  was  all  that  was  visible 
in  his  countenance,  and  then,  with  an  incredulous  laugh,  he 
rejoined — 

"  Pardon  me,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  but  I  could  not  have 
believed  that  you  would  have  been  so  pertinacious.  But  be 
it  80,  every  one  has  his  failings :  one  man  is  too  niggardly, 
another  too  lavish.  Well,  then,  I  am  ready  to  stretch  a  point 
to  make  Gustav  happy.  Give  your  daughter  twenty-five 
thousand  francs,  on  the  condition  that  the  amount  of  her 
portion  remain  a  secret,  so  that  I  be  not  a  laughing-stock  to 
my  friends.  Twenty-five  thousand  francs,  you  must  confess, 
is  not  too  much ;  such  a  trifle  will  do  little  more  than  meet 
her  necessary  preparations.  Come  now,  act  candidly  and 
honestly — here  is  my  hand  I " 

Trembling,  as  if  seized  by  an  ague-fit,  the  nobleman  sprang 
up  suddenly  and  unlocked  a  little  press  in  the  wall,  and  then 


310  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

taking  out  a  packet  of  papers,  threw  thero  on  the  tabl6| 

saying— 

**  Eead,  and  convince  yourself." 

As  the  merchant  looked  through  the  papers,  his  counte- 
nance altered  gradually,  and  he  shook  his  head  musingly  at 
times.  Meanwhile,  the  nobleman  said,  with  a  mixture  of  jest 
and  anger — 

"  Ah,  you  would  not  believe  me ;  but  guard  yourself  against 
coming  to  a  conclusion  even  from  these  papers  alone.  You 
must  know  all  at  once,  and  then  I  will  not  again  have  to  ex- 
pose myself  to  the  torture  of  these  humiliating  disclosures. 
Here  is  a  bill  for  four  thousand  francs,  which  I  cannot  pay. 
You  perceive  I  am  more  than  poor — I  have  debts." 

"  It  is,  then,  true,"  said  Herr  Denecker,  astonished :  "  you 
possess  nothing.  I  see  from  these  papers  that  my  Notary  is 
also  yours.  I  spoke  with  him  about  your  wealth,  and  he  left 
me  in  my  wisdom,  or  rather  in  my  error." 

The  nobleman  now  breathed  freely,  as  if  a  load  had  fallen 
from  his  heart ;  and  his  countenance  again  assumed  that  air 
and  digiiity  which  was  peculiar  to  him.  He  sat  down,  and 
said  with  a  constrained  coldness — 

"  Now  that  you  have  no  longer  any  doubts  of  my  poverty, 
I  ask  you,  Herr  Denecker,  what  is  your  decision?" 

"My  decision?"  replied  the  merchant;  "my  decision  is, 
that  we  continue  good  friends  as  formerly.  But  the  marriage  ? 
— That  must  no  longer  be  thought  of;  we  shall  speak  no 
more  of  that.  So,  then,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  you  had  made 
your  calculations,  as  I  now  begin  to  see,  and  would  fain  have 
struck  a  good  bargain,  and  sold  your  wares  as  dear  as  poe- 
sible?' 

"  Sir,"  cried  the  nobleman,  with .  an  angry  glance,  **  speak 
of  my  daughter  with  respect,  be  she  poor  or  rich.  Do  not 
teget  who  she  is," 


FOOB  NOBLEMAN.  811 

"Do  not  be  angry,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,"  replied  the  mer- 
chant. "  I  do  not  mean  to  oiBfend  you  i  I  am  very  far  firom 
meaning  to  do  that.  Had  you  been  successful,  I  would  per- 
haps have  rather  admired  your  tactics;  but  he  who  would 
overreach  me,  must  rise  early  in  the  morning.  And  since 
you  are  so  nice  on  the  point  of  honour,  permit  me  to  ask  you 
if  you  acted  honourably  in  inviting — I  may  say,  enticing— 
my  nephew  to  frequent  this  house,  till  this  unhappy  lore 
struck  so  deep  a  root  in  his  heart  ?" 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke  let  his  head  sink  to  conceal  the  blush 
of  shame  which,  like  a  cloud,  overspread  his  brow,  and  sat 
quite  overwhelmed  for  a  time,  till  the  merchant  roused  his 
attention  by  the  word—"  Well?" 

"Ah,"  sighed  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  "have  pity  on  met 
Perhaps  love  of  my  child  led  me  into  this  error.  God  has 
endowed  my  Lenora  with  all  the  gifts  which  can  adom  a 
woman  on  earth ;  I  had  hoped  that  her  beauty,  the  purity  of 
her  soul,  and  the  nobility  of  her  race,  might  be  treasures  at 
least  as  valuable  as  gold." 

"  Yes,  to  a  nobleman,  perhaps ;  but  not  to  a  merchant," 
muttered  Herr  Denecker. 

"  Do  not  reproach  me  with  having  enticed  your  nephew  to 
visit  here;  the  word  pains  me  deeply,  and  is  unjust.  But 
when  I  saw  a  mutual  attachment  spring  up  at  the  same  time 
between  Gustav  and  Lenora,  I  did  not,  I  confess,  do  anything 
to  check  this  feeling.  On  the  contrary,  I  daily  thanked  God 
in  my  prayers  that  he  had  sent  me  one  who  was  to  be  my 
child's  deliverer.  Yes,  for  Gustav  is  no  ordinary  man,  and 
one  who  would  have  made  her  happy — not  by  his  wealth,  but 
by  his  noble  character  and  good  heart.  Is  it  then  so  great  a 
misdeed  if  a  father,  whom  unavoidable  misfortune  has  beg- 
gared, should  cherish  the  hope  of  seeing  his  child  rescued  from. 
the  miseries  of  poverty  ?  " 


81S  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  the  merchant.  "  Everything  de- 
pended on  its  success ;  but  you  made  a  bad  choice,  Herr  von 
Vlierbeke.  I  am  a  man  who  examines  goods  twice  before  he 
concludes  a  bargain,  and  it  is  excessively  difficult,  I  can 
assure  you,  to  pass  apples  for  citrons  with  me." 

This  style  of  talk,  borrowed  from  trade,  seemed  to  pain  the 
nobleman  deeply,  for  he  sprang  up  quickly  and  said,  with 
rising  anger — 

"  You  have,  then,  no  pity  for  my  misfortunes  ?  You  would 
give  me  to  understand  that  it  has  been  my  purpose  to  deceive 
you  ?  Was  it  you  who  discovered  my  poverty  ?  Were  you 
not  at  liberty  to  do  what  you  pleased  after  my  voluntary  ex- 
planation ?  Do  you  think  that,  because  I  listen  humbly  to 
your  reproaches,  and  confess  my  mistake — my  fault,  that  every 
feeling  of  self-respect  is  dead  in  my  heart?  You  speak  of 
wares  as  if  you  had  come  here  to  buy  something  1  Do  yon 
mean  my  Lenora  ?  All  your  wealth  cannot  reach  that,  sir. 
If  love  for  her.  is  not  powerful  enough  to  cause  inequalities  of 
another  kind  to  disappear,  know  that  my  name  is  Von  Vlier- 
beke, and  that  this  name,  even  in  poverty,  weighs  heavier 
than  all  your  gold  I " 

A  deep  indignation  was  visible  on  the  nobleman's  features 
while  he  uttered  these  words ;  his  eyes  shot  fire  at  the  mer- 
chant, who,  terrified  by  his  rapid  movements,  drew  back  and 
looked  at  him  with  some  alarm. 

"  Well,"  said  Denecker,  "  we  will  not  waste  so  many  words 
about  it ;  every  one  remains  what  he  is,  every  one  keeps  what 
he  has,  and  so  the  matter  is  settled.  I  have  only  one  request 
to  make — namely,  that  you  no  longer  permit  my  nephew  to 
visit  you,  otherwise  " — 

"  Otherwise!"  cried  the  nobleman  with  passion;  "do  you 
threaten  me?"  And  then  controlling  himseli^  he  said,  with 
0Qbdned  passion — 


THE  POOB  NOBLEMAN.  tlS 

**  Enough  of  this :  shall  I  order  Herr  Denecker'f  car- 
riage?" 

"  As  you  please,"  replied  the  merchant ;  "  we  can  transact 
no  business  with  one  another,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  we 
should  be  enemies." 

"  Good,  good ;  let  us  stop,  sir.  This  conversation  pains  me ; 
it  must  have  an  end." 

With  these  words,  he  conducted  the  merchant  to  the  door, 
and  took  leave  of  him  curtly. 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke  returned  to  his  room,  sank  into  a  chair, 
and  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  sighed  deeply,  while  his 
breast  heaved  violently  with  a  mingled  excitement,  indigna- 
tion, and  grief.  He  remained  in  this  attitude  for  a  time,  silent 
and  motionless ;  his  hands  then  sank  powerless  on  his  knees, 
and  a  deathlike  pallor  overspread  his  face.  He  appeared 
overpowered  by  the  most  painful  reflections  j  but  no  move- 
ment, no  feature  of  his  countenance,  indicated  the  silent  ago- 
nies of  his  soul. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  noise  in  the  room  overhead,  which 
roused  him  out  of  his  unconsciousness,  and  made  him  tremble 
with  fear  and  anxiety. 

"0  God  I  my  poor  Lenoral"  he  exclaimed.  "She  comes. 
I  have  not  yet  suffered  enough ;  I  must  break  my  poor  child's 
heart  tool — with  cruel  coldness  rob  her  of  all  her  bright 
hopes,  destroy  her  sweetest  dreams,  and  behold  her  despair ! 
Would  to  God  I  could  escape  this  fearful  interview  I  What 
shall  I  say?  how  tell  her  all?" 

He  laughed  bitterly,  and  said,  muttering  to  himself  in  « 
tone  of  despair — 

"  Ah,  conceal  thine  own  suffering — take  courage  I  Even 
if  tty  heart  is  broken,  if  despair  overmasters  thee,  still  smile, 
tmilel  What  is  thy  fate  after  all,  but  a  perpetual  self- 
mockery  ?    What  else  canst  thou  do,  miserable  slave  ? — Keep 


814  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

down  this  rebellions  feeling  I    Be  calm,  be  calm,  there  U  4iy 
child  1" 

Lenora  entered,  and  turned  toward  her  father  with  an  in- 
quiring but  hopeful  glance.  Whatever  exertion  Herr  von 
Vlierbeke  might  have  made  to  conceal  his  agony,  he  was  not 
successful  on  this  occasion.  Lenora  at  once  perceived  that 
he  was  suffering  from  some  great  sorrow;  and  when  he  con- 
tinued silent,  spite  of  her  anxious  and  questioning  looks,  she 
began  to  tremble,  and  said  with  alarm — 
"Well,  father,  well?" 

"  Ah,  my  child,"  said  the  father,  "  we  are  unhappy  I     Gk)d 
tries  us  severely ;  we  must  bow  to  His  almighty  will." 

"  What  must  I  fear  ?  "  cried  Lenora  in  perplexity.    "  Speak, 
father;  has  he  refused  his  consent?" 
"  He  has  refused  it,  Lenora." 
"No,  no  I"  cried  the  maiden,  "it  cannot  be!" 
"  Kefused— because  he  has  millions,  and  we  are  poor." 
"  Is  it  true  ?    Is  Gustav  lost — hopelessly  lost  ?" 
"  Hopelessly,"  repeated  the  nobleman  with  a  hollow  voice. 
The  young  girl  uttered  a  loud  cry  of  anguish,  and  hasten- 
mg  forward,  sank  down  with  her  head  upon  the  table.     She 
Bobbed  audibly,  muttering  at  times  the  name  of  her  beloved 
in  a  tone  of  utter  despair.     The  nobleman  rose,  and  for  a  long 
time  gazed  at  his  suffering  child.     An  unutterable  sadness  was 
imprinted  on  his  features ;  his  eyes,  at  other  times  so  clear 
and  sparkling,  were  restless  and  troubled ;  he  closed '      hands 
convulsively,  and  at  last  folding  them,  he  approached  his 
daughter,  and  said  imploringly — 

"  Lenora,  have  pity  on  me ;  moderate  your  grief  for  my 
gake,  my  child!  In  this  unhappy  interview  with  Herr  De- 
necker,  I  have  endured  all  the  agonies  which  can  torture  a 
nobleman's  and  a  father's  heart.  I  have  drunk,  in  full 
draughts,  the  bitter  gall  of  shame,  and  emptied  to  the  dregi 


THE  POOR  NOBLEMAN.  816 

the  cup  of  humiliation.  But  all  this  is  nothing  when  I  be- 
ho.d  your  sorrow.  Oh,  try  to  control  yourself  show  me  yonr 
face  ;  let  me  find  consolation  in  your  tranquillity  I  My  brain 
whirls — I  die  of  despair  I " 

When  he  said  this,  he  sank  into  a  chair,  quite  exhausted 
by  his  prolonged  sufferings.  The  maiden  approached  her 
father,  and  rested  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  saying  with  diffi- 
culty, as  tears  and  sobs  would  allow  her — 

"  Never  to  see  him  again  I  to  renounce  his  love,  and  all 
the  happiness  which  I  dreamt  of  I    Ah,  he  will  die  of  sorrow  I" 

"  Lenora,  Lenora  I "  sighed  the  nobleman. 

"  0  dear  father  I — Gustav  for  ever,  for  ever  lost  I  I  could 
die  at  the  dreadful  thought :  still,  so  long  as  I  possess  you,  I 
will  bless  and  praise  God ;  but  I  can  do  nothing  but  shed 
tears  now  I     0  let  me  weep  I " 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke  pressed  his  child  to  his  breast,  and  in 
silence  respected  her  grief.  A  profound  stillness  reigned 
round  father  and  daughter.  Both  sat  there  for  a  long  time, 
till  the  very  excess  of  their  sorrow  had  brought  fatigue,  and 
mere  exhaustion  made  their  hearts  accessible  to  mutual  ooa- 
■olaiion. 


Bl€  TALES  OF  FLElOf H  Uf*. 


CHAPTEB  VL 

FoUK  days  after  Herr  Denecker  had  refused  his  consent  to 
Gustav's  marriage  with  Lenora,  a  hired  carriage  drove  oyer 
the  heath,  and  drew  up  at  a  lonely  part  of  the  road,  about 
a  mile  from  Grinselhof.  A  young  man  sprang  out  of  the 
■vehicle,  and  pointing  out  a  distant  inn,  at  which  the  carriage 
was  to  wait,  hastened  with  rapid  strides  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. He  appeared  driven  on  by  an  uncontrollable  impatience, 
and  trembled  at  times  as  if  his  own  thoughts  terrified  him. 
So  soon  as  he  saw  Grinselhof  glimmering  through  the  trees, 
he  advanced  cautiously,  keeping  close  by  the  wood,  and  going 
from  one  side  to  another,  wherever  the  foliage  was  thickest. 
When  he  reached  the  Castle,  he  uttered  a  cry  of  joy — for  the 
gate  fortunately  stood  open.  Cautiously  he  crept  through 
the  bushes  till  he  gained  the  bridge,  and  then,  passing  the 
farm-house  on  tip-toe,  disappeared  among  the  lofty  trees, 
which,  like  a  wall,  enclosed  Grinselhof,  separating  it  from  the 
rest  of  the  world. 

He  had  advanced  only  a  few  paces  within  the  grounds,  when 
he  suddenly  paused  with  visible  agitation.  Under  the  Indian 
jessamine  sat  Lenora,  resting  her  head  on  the  table  ;  her  breast 
heaved  convulsively,  and  a  few  glistening  tears  forced  their 
way  through  her  fingers,  and  fell  on  the  ground. 

The  youth  approached  lightly ;  but  slow  and  quiet  as  hii 
motioni  were,  the  maiden  suddenly  raised  her  head,  and  sprang 


THE  POOB  NOBLEMAN.  SIT 

up  trembling,  while  the  word  "  Gustav"  escaped  fix)m  her 
breast,  like  a  cry  of  pain,  and  resounded  among  the  trees. 
She  would  have  fled,  but  before  she  could  advance  a  step, 
ijfie  young  man  was  on  his  knees  before  her,  and  address- 
ifig  her  with  ardour,  while  he  held  her  hand  firmly  in  hit 
own — 

"  Lenora,  Lenora,  hear  me  I  If  you  flee  from  me,  if  you 
deny  me  the  consolation  to  tell  you,  with  my  last  farewell, 
what  I  sufier  and  what  I  hope,  I  shall  either  die  at  your  feet, 
or,  carrying  a  serpent  of  torture  in  my  heart,  perish  far  from 
my  fatherland,  far  from  you,  my  sister,  my  beloved,  my  bride  1 
0  Lenora,  by  your  earnest,  pure  love,  I  conjure  you,  do  not 
drive  me  from  you  at  this  time  I " 

Although  Lenora  trembled  in  every  limb,  her  countenance 
yet  expressed  dignity  and  self-command,  and  she  replied, 
calmly  and  coldly — 

"  Yomr  boldness  surprises  me,  sir ;  it  required  much  to 
appear  at  Grinselhof  again,  after  the  insult  which  has  been 
offered  to  my  father.  He  is  now  in  bed  ill ;  his  high  soul 
Bank  under  his  sufferings,  and  a  violent  fever  has  seized  him. 
This  is  the  reward  of  my  love  for  you." 

"  Ah,  Lenora,  you  blame  me  I  what  have  I,  then,  done 
wrong?"  exclaimed  the  young  man  despairingly. 

"  There  can  be  no  longer  any  intercourse  between  us,"  re- 
plied the  maiden.  "  We  are  not  so  rich  as  you,  sir,  it  is  true ; 
but  the  blood  which  flows  in  our  veins  brooks  not  eontempt. 
Stand  up,  go,  I  must  never  see  you  more." 

"Pity,  favour,"  implored  Gustav,  raising  his  hands  im- 
ploringly ;  "  I  am  innocent,  Lenora ! " 

The  maiden  endeavoured  to  conceal  the  tears  which  she 
could  not  restrain,  and  turned  to  go. 

"  Oh  how  cruel  I"  he  exclaimed.  "  You  leave  me  for  ever, 
without  even  saying  farewell,  without  one  word  of  comfort ; 


BIS  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

you  are  deaf  to  my  entreaties,  insensible  to  my  sorrow.  WeD 
then,  I  must  endure  my  fate,  for  you  have  willed  it  so." 

Then  springing  up,  he  exclaimed  with  a  flood  of  tears — 

"  Lenora,  my  friend,  you  pronounce  my^  death- sentence, 
I  forgive  you ;  may  you  be  happy  on  earth  without  me. 
Farewell — farewell  for  ever  I " 

When  he  had  said  this,  strength  seemed  to  fail  him,  and 
sinking  on  a  chair,  his  arms  fell  powerless  and  outstretched 
upon  the  table. 

Lenora  had  already  moved  a  few  paces  from  the  arbour, 
but  the  evident  despair  of  her  lover  drew  her  back  irresistibly ; 
one  could  easily  read  in  her  face  a  violent  struggle  between 
duty  and  love.  At  last  her  heart  seemed  to  yield,  tears  gushed 
from  her  eyes,  and  slowly  approaching  the  young  man,  she 
took  his  hand  and  sighed  tenderly — 

"  Gustav,  my  poor  friend,  we  are  unhappy,  very  unhappy, 
are  we  not?" 

The  affectionate  grasp  of  her  hand,  and  the  sweet  tones  ol 
her  voice,  restored  the  young  man  to  himself;  and  with  a 
happy  smile,  looking  in  the  maiden's  eyes,  he  said  with  rap- 
ture— 

"  Lenora,  dear  Lenora,  you  have  returned  to  me  ;  you  have 
pity  for  my  sufferings  ;  you  do  not,  then,  hate  me  ?" 

"  Can  a  love  like  ours  die,  Gustav  ?" 

"  0  no,  no  I"  cried  the  youth  with  ardour,  "  it  is  eternal^ 
eternal  I  too  mighty  for  misfortune  or  misery,  indestructible 
while  our  hearts  beat  in  our  bosoms  I " 

The  maiden  hung  her  head  and  looked  down,  as  she  replied 
solemnly — 

"  Do  not  think,  Gustav,  that  our  separation  gives  me  less 
pain  than  it  gives  you.  If  the  assurance  of  my  love  can 
console  you  in  your  absence,  then  be  strong  and  brave,  for  I 
will  ever  cherish  your  memory  in  my  mourning  heart ;  I  will 


POOS  NOBLEMAH.  Sit 

fbillow  yon  in  spirit,  and  love  you,  till  the  grare  fills  np  the 
gulf  which  yawns  between  ns :  yonder  with  God  we  shall 
meet  again— -on  earth,  never." 

"  Oh  1  you  deceive  yourself,  Lenora,"  exclaimed  GustaT, 
with  animation.  "  My  uncle  is  not  inexorable — he  will  yield 
out  of  compassion  for  my  despair." 

"  That  may  be,  but  my  father's  feeling  of  honour  is  un- 
bending," said  the  maiden  with  a  sorrowful  pride.  "  You 
must  go,  Gustav ;  already  too  long  have  I  transgressed  his 
command,  too  long  forgotten  my  duty  in  remaining  alone 
with  a  man  who  cannot  be  my  husband.  Leave  me  !  Were 
any  one  io  surprise  us,  my  unhappy  father  would  die  of  grief 
and  shame." 

"  Good,  dear  Lenora  !  only  oue  moment  more  ;  hear  what  I 
have  to  say  to  you.  My  uncle  has  refused  his  consent  to 
our  union  ;  I  have  wept,  entreated — nothing  availed  to  shake 
his  resolution.  Despair,  then,  obscured  my  intellect ;  I  re- 
belled against  him,  threatened  him  like  an  ingrate,  and  said 
things  which  have  made  me  abhor  myself  since  I  recovered 
my  senses.  On  my  knees  I  begged  forgiveness ;  my  uncle  is 
good-hearted,  and  he  pardoned  me  on  condition  that  I  imme- 
diately, and  without  offering  any  objection,  should  accompany 
him  on  a  long-purposed  journey  to  Italy — he  hopes  in  this 
way  that  I  shall  forget  you.  Forget  you,  Lenora  I — I  have, 
howevei,  embraced  this  plan  with  secret  joy.  I  shall  be  alone 
with  him  for  months,  show  him  all  the  love  which  I  really 
entertain  for  him,  soften  his  heart  by  my  great  respect,  un- 
ceasingly entreat  him  for  his  consent,  persuade  him,  and 
return  victoriously,  Lenora,  to  offer  you  my  life  and  my  hand, 
to  deck  your  brow  with  the  happy  bridal  wreath,  and  kneel- 
ing before  God's  altar,  to  receive  you  as  my  beloved  wife." 

A  bright  smile  beamed  for  a  moment  on  the  maiden's  coun- 
tenance, and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasnre  at  this  charm- 


8S0  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIVE. 

ing  picture  of  a  still  possible  happiness ;  but  soon  the  deliudom 
vanished,  and  she  replied  calmly,  though  sadly — 

"  My  poor  friend,  it  is  cruel  to  be  compelled  to  tear  rudely 
even  this  feeble  hope  out  of  your  heart.  Your  uncle  may 
consent,  but  my  father?" 

"  Your  father  I  he  will  pardon  all,  and  receive  me  into  hii 
arms  again  like  a  son  that  was  lost  and  is  found." 

"  No,  no,  do  not  believe  it,  Gustav ;  his  honour  has  been 
hurt — as  Christian  he  will  forgive,  but,  as  nobleman,  never 
forget  the  insult." 

"  0  Lenora,  you  do  your  father  injustice  I  If  I,  with  the 
full  consent  of  my  uncle,  return  and  say  to  him,  *  Here  I  am, 
the  man  who  can  make  your  child  happy ;  I  will  adorn  her 
life  with  all  the  love  and  joy  which  a  husband  ever  lavished 
on  a  wife ;  her  destiny  on  earth  shall  be  enviable  :  give  me 
Lenora  1' — what  do  you  think  he  would  reply?" 

With  downcast  eyes,  Lenora  answered — 

"  You  know  his  boundless  goodness  of  heart,  Gustav  ;  my 
happiness  is  the  one  wish  of  his  soul ;  he  would  bless  you,  and 
thank  God." 

"  Is  it  not  so,  Lenora  ?  he  would  consent.  You  see  all  is 
not  lost — a  bright  ray  still  lights  up  our  future.  Lay  this 
sweet  hope  to  your  heart ;  do  not  mourn  ;  let  me  carry  with 
me  on  this  weary  journey  the  consolation  that  you,  confiding 
in  God's  goodness,  will  wait  for  me.  Think  of  me  in  your 
prayers ;  utter  my  name  at  times  in  these  shady  walks  where 
love  so  sweetly  filled  our  hearts — where  I,  during  two  happy 
months,  drank  from  your  countenance  a  century  of  infinite 
bliss.  Smile  to  me  in  your  solitude ;  my  spirit  will  bo 
conscious  of  your  distant  greeting,  and  I  will  rejoice  and  find* 
courage  to  bear  patiently  our  temporary  separation." 

Lenora  wept  in  silence ;  the  sweet  and  touching  words  of 
her  lover  had  quite  conquered  her  pride ;  in  her  heart  nothing 


THE  POOR  NOBLEMAH.  321 

remained  but  love  and  sorrow.  The  young  man  perceived  it, 
and  continued — 

"  I  go,  Lenora ;  hut  I  leave  my  fatherland  and  my  beloved 
with  a  fully  assured  hope.  Come  what  will,  I  will  bear  it 
cheerfully.  Lenora,  you  will  think  on  me — daily  think  on 
me,  will  you  not?" 

"  0  God  I  I  have  promised  my  father  to  forget  you  I " 

"  Forget  me  I  Would  you  do  your  heart  violence  to  forget 
me?" 

"  0  no,  Gustav  1 "  was  the  low  reply.  "  I  will,  for  the  first 
time,  disobey  my  father ;  for  I  feel — I  feel  that  I  have  not 
strength.  My  promise  was  a  lie.  To  forget  you  is  impossible 
for  me  ;  I  must  love  you  while  I  live  ;  it  is  my  earthly  des- 
tiny." 

"  Oh,  thanks,  thanks,  Lenora  I "  exclaimed  Gustav  with 
rapture.  "  Your  loving  words  give  me  strength  and  courage. 
May  God  Almighty  keep  you  I  Your  image  will  be  ever  pre- 
sent to  me,  and  be  my  guardian  angel,  in  joy  as  in  sorrow,  by 
day  as  by  night ;  it  will  continually  hover  around  me.  It 
breaks  my  heart  to  leave  you ;  but  duty  commands,  and  I 
must  go  :  farewell  I  farewell  I " 

With  feverish  ardour,  he  then  pressed  both  her  hands,  and 
quickly  disappeared  among  the  trees. 

"  Gustav,  Gustav,  farewell  I "  cried  Lenora,  half  uncon- 
sciously, and  overpowered  by  her  emotion.  With  tremulous 
hand  she  sought  a  chair;  then  sinking  powerless  upon  it, 
laid  her  head  upon  the  table,  and  yielded  to  the  anguish  (d 
her  heart,  while  the  hot  tears  streamed  over  her  hand& 


10  9JklMM  OF  FLEMISH  Ufl, 


CHAPTER  VIL 

Lenoba  had  told  her  father  of  Gustav's  last  visit,  and  had 
laboured  to  impart  to  his  heart  those  sweet  hopes  of  a  better 
future  which  now  lived  in  her  own  ;  but  Herr  von  Vlierbeko 
was  quite  unimpressed  by  her  account  of  what  had  taken  place, 
and  bad  even  received  it  with  a  kind  of  satirical  laugh,  and 
without  giving  her  any  definite  reply. 

From  that  day  Grinselhof  had  become  still  more  lonely  and 
melancholy  than  ever.  Visibly  tortured  by  a  secret  suffering, 
the  nobleman  generally  sat  with  his  head  resting  on  his  hands, 
and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground ;  he  saw  continually  before 
him  the  unhappy  day  on  which  the  bond  fell  due,  and  which 
was  rapidly  and  inevitably  approaching,  to  drive  the  father 
and  his  child  for  ever  into  misery  and  destitution.  Lenora 
concealed  her  own  sorrow,  that  she  might  not  aggravate  her 
father's  inexplicable  grief  by  allowing  her  own  melancholy  to 
appear.  Although  her  heart  was  full  of  anxious  thoughts, 
she  assumed  cheerfulness  and  serenity.  She  did  and  said  to 
him  all  that  her  loving  heart  could  suggest,  to  draw  him  out 
of  his  painful  reflections.  Her  exertions,  however,  had  be«a 
quite  fruitless  ;  her  father  rewarded  her  with  a  smile,  or  with 
a  tender  caress ;  but  the  smile  was  sad  and  bitter — the  caress 
was  feeble  and  lifeless.  On  several  occasions  she  had  inquired 
with  weeping  eyes  into  the  cause  of  her  father's  sadness,  but 
he  avmded  every  explanation.    For  whole  days  he  would 


THE  POOB  NOBLEMAN.  323 

wander  about  in  solitnde,  and  sunk  in  gloomy  thoughts,  through 
the  most  shady  and  secluded  paths  in  the  garden,  and  appeared 
to  flee  even  his  daughter's  presence.  When  Lenora  saw  him 
from  a  distance,  she  could  perceiye  his  look  of  anguish  and 
despair,  and  the  violent  gesticulations  which  he  occasionally 
made ;  but  when  she  approached  to  soothe  his  excitement  and 
alleviate  his  sorrow  by  marks  of  deep  affection,  he  scarcely 
replied  to  her  loving  inquiries,  and  abruptly  left  her,  to  seek 
some  retired  corner  of  the  house  in  which  he  might  indulge 
his  feelings  unseen. 

So  passed  a  whole  month — a  month  of  silent  suffering  and 
deep  melancholy.  Lenora,  meanwhile,  perceived  with  despair 
how  rapidly  her  father's  countenance  was  growing  pale  and  hag- 
gard, and  how  his  eyes  were  losing  their  wonted  brilliancy,  as 
if  some  consuming  malady  was  wasting  his  life  away.  About 
this  time,  however,  an  alteration  in  his  conduct  convinced  her 
that  some  sad  and  fearful  secret  lay  heavy  on  his  heart.  For 
a  week  past  his  eyes  had  beamed  again  with  more  than  their 
accustomed  fire.  He  now  seemed  to  be  continually  the  victim 
of  a  feverish  agitation ;  his  words,  his  thoughts,  his  gestures, 
his  acts,  all  showed  impatience  and  excitement.  About  this 
time,  too,  he  went  twice  or  thrice  every  week  to  the  city  with- 
out letting  any  one  know  what  he  did  there.  Late  in  the  even- 
ing, he  returned  to  Grinselhof,  and  then  seated  himself  quietly 
and  thoughtfully  by  the  table  ;  soon  after,  he  generally  asked 
Lenora  to  go  to  her  room,  and  then  disappeared  with  the  lamp 
into  his  own.  But  not  to  rest,  as  his  sorrowing  daughter  knew 
too  well ;  for  as  she  lay  awake  through  anxiety,  she  often  heard 
diuring  the  night  her  father's  footsteps,  as  he  restlessly  paced 
the  floor  overhead ;  and  she  trembled,  as  she  lay,  with  grief  and 
alarm.  Lenora  possessed  great  courage,  and  had  acquired,  from 
her  unusual  training  and  education,  an  almost  masculine  energy 
of  soal ;  and  so  there  gradually  arose  in  her  heart  the  resolu- 


824  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

tion  to  force  her  father  to  impart  his  secret  to  heft:,  HowoTer 
much  her  exceeding  respect  for  her  father  withheld  her  from 
taking  this  step,  her  love  and  concern,  on  the  other  hand,  daily 
and  irresistibly  urged  her  to  make  a  bold  effort.  She  had  fre- 
quently sought  her  father  with  the  intention  of  executing  her 
plan,  but  the  piercing  glance  with  which  he  met  her  approach, 
and  the  whole  expression  of  his  face,  had  always  deterred  her. 
She  saw  that  her  father  suspected  her  intention,  and  seemed 
to  tremble  in  her  presence,  as  if  he  feared  her  questions. 

One  day  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  had  gone  to  the  city  as  usual, 
early  in  the  morning.  It  was  now  past  noon,  and  Lenora 
wandered  slowly,  lost  in  sad  reveries,  through  the  rooms  of 
the  Castle,  which  were  pervaded  by  a  deathlike  stillness. 
At  times,  she  gave  expression  to  her  troubled  thoughts  in 
words,  then  paused  for  a  time,  and  raised  her  hand  to  wipe  a 
tear  from  her  eye.  In  her  abstraction,  and  scarcely  knowing 
what  she  did,  she  drew  out  the  drawer  of  the  table  on  which 
her  father  was  accustomed  to  write.  Perhaps  the  desire  she 
felt  to  discover  his  secret  urged  her  unconsciously  to  do  this. 
She  found  a  document  lying  open,  and  scarcely  had  her  eyes 
fallen  on  it,  when  a  mortal  paleness  overspread  her  face,  and 
§he  read  with  trembling  what  this  paper  revealed  to  her. 

She  shuddered  as  she  shut  the  drawer ;  and  left  the  room 
with  downcast  eyes,  and  a  slow  motion,  like  a  person  absorbed 
in  the  most  painful  and  distressing  thoughts.  She  sat  down 
in  the  front  room,  gazed  fixedly  on  the  ground  for  a  time,  and 
then  sighed — 

"  Sell  Grinselhof  I  and  wherefore  ?  Herr  Denecker  mocked 
my  father's  poverty.  What  a  secret  this  is  I  Are  we  then 
really  so  very,  very  poor  ?  What  a  light  is  here !  Tkii  •<>• 
fonnti  for  my  father's  grief.'' 

•  •••••• 


POOB  NOBLEIUX.  tSfi 


OHAPTEB  VIIL 

Ab  Lenora  now  suspected,  it  was  but  two  days  after  this  that 
the  announcement  of  the  sale  of  her  father's  possessions  ap- 
peared in  the  newspapers,  and  was  posted  throughout  the  city 
and  the  surrounding  villages.  It  attracted  considerable  atten- 
tion, and  the  poverty  of  a  nobleman,  whom  everybody  had 
considered  so  wealthy  and  avaricious,  was  a  great  subject  of 
wonder.  The  sale  had  been  announced  as  taking  place  "  on 
account  of  his  leaving  the  country;"  and  no  one  would  have 
suspected  the  real  grounds,  had  not  the  news  spread  from  the 
city  that  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  had  been  forced  to  this,  in  order 
to  pay  his  debts ;  and  that  he  consequently  was  excessively 
poor.  Even  the  true  cause  of  his  misfortune — the  assistance 
which  he  had  lent  his  brother — became  currently  reported, 
although  the  details,  of  course,  were  not  accurately  known. 
Since  the  announcement,  the  nobleman  had  kept  himself  more 
Becluded  than  ever,  that  he  might  escape  all  explanations. 
He  awaited  with  patience  the  approach  of  the  appointed  day ; 
and  although  a  feeling  of  sadness  often  threatened  to  over- 
power him,  he  found  in  the  never-flagging  cheerfulness  of  his 
daughter,  strength  to  look  forward,  with  a  certain  courage 
and  spirit,  to  the  day  of  trial. 

In  the  meantime,  he  received  a  letter  from  Gustav,  who 
was  then  in  Rome,  containing  also  a  few  lines  to  his  daughter. 
The  young  man  declared  that  his  attachment  to  Lenora  had 


896  TALES  OP  FLEMISH  LDPB. 

been  only  strengthened  and  deepened  by  absence  ;  and  that  he 
found  his  only  consolation  in  the  hope  of  being  one  day  nnited 
with  her  in  the  bond  of  marriage.  In  other  respects,  however, 
his  letter  was  not  so  encouraging  ;  for  he  informed  them  sadly 
and  complainingly,  that  his  attempts  to  gain  over  his  uncle 
had  been  hitherto  quite  unsuccessfQl. — The  father  had  thrown 
aside  the  letter  with  indifference,  and  did  not  conceal  from 
Lenora  that  he  no  longer  cherished  the  faintest  hope  of  their 
possible  union ;  and  counselled  her  entirely  to  blot  out  the 
memory  of  this  unhappy  attachment,  that  she  might  not  pre- 
pare for  herself  still  greater  sorrow.  Lenora  herself  was 
convinced  that  now  that  her  father's  poverty  had  become 
generally  known,  she  must  give  up  all  hope  ;  and  yet  it  was 
such  a  blessed  and  cheering  feeling  to  be  assured  that  Gustav 
still  loved  her — that  he  whose  image  filled  her  heart  and 
inspired  her  dreams,  continually  thought  on  her,  and  lamented 
their  separation  I  True  to  her  vows,  she  often  uttered  his 
name  in  her  solitude ;  many  a  sigh  was  breathed  for  him 
under  the  old  jessamine,  as  if  she  were  confiding  to  the  winds 
the  longing  of  her  soul  to  bear  to  a  milder  sky.  In  her 
iolitary  hours,  too,  she  sometimes  repeated  Gustav's  tenderest 
confessions  of  his  love  ;  and  in  her  meditative  walks,  through 
the  shady  paths  of  Grinselhof,  she  paused  at  every  spot  where 
a  word,  a  pressure  of  the  hand,  or  a  glance  from  him,  had 
made  her  heart  glow  with  rapture. 

As  if  every  misfortune  which  could  afflict  the  nobleman's 
heart  were  to  be  poured  upon  him  at  once,  to  overwhelm  him 
by  one  concentrated  stroke,  he  at  this  time  received  news  of 
his  brother's  death  in  America.  The  unfortunate  man  had 
died  of  a  fever  in  the  wilds,  lying  to  the  we»t  of  Hudson's 
Bay.  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  mourned  for  several  days  the  death 
of  his  beloved  brother ;  but  the  approaching  crisis  of  his  own 
fiite  did  not  permit  him  to  dwell  long  on  this  sabjeot 


THB  FOOB  NOBLEMAH,  317 

At  last  tbe  day  of  sale  arrived. 

By  early  moming,  people  of  all  kinds  had  made  their  ap- 
pearance at  Grinselhof,  partly  from  curiosity,  partly  with  the 
intention  of  purchasing ;  and  wandered  about,  looking  at  the 
furniture,  and  calculating  beforehand  the  value  of  every  article. 
The  poor  nobleman  had  collected  into  the  large  hall,  every- 
thing in  the  house  which  was  saleable.  Assisted  by  hii 
daughter,  he  had  laboured,  during  the  whole  preceding  night, 
to  freshen  and  furbish  things  up  a  little,  in  order  that  their 
clean  and  polished  exterior  might  induce  the  fancier  to  offer 
a  good  price.  They  did  this  from  no  selfish  motive — for 
u  the  estate  had  been  sold  some  days  before  very  disadvan- 
iageously,  they  knew  that  even  in  the  event  of  the  most 
favourable  sale,  the  proceeds  would  fall  considerably  short  of 
the  amount  of  their  remaining  debts.  His  honesty  alone  had 
induced  him  to  sacrifice  his  night's  rest  to  the  interests  of  his 
creditors,  in  the  hope  of  lessening  their  loss  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. Apparently  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  had  determined  not 
to  sleep  another  night  at  Grinselhof ;  for  among  the  frirniture 
exposed  for  sale  were  two  beds,  in  addition  to  many  clothes 
belonging  to  him  and  his  daughter.  Lenora  had  betaken 
herself  early  in  the  moming  to  the  farm,  to  remain  there  till 
all  was  over. 

At  ten  o'clock,  the  hall  where  the  sale  wa«  to  be  carried 
on,  was  filled  with  people.  Nobles,  and  distinguished  ladies, 
were  mingled  there  with  old  clothesmen  and  wrangling  pawn- 
brokers, who  had  come  out  of  the  city  in  the  hope  of  making 
a  good  bargain.  Here  and  there,  too,  stood  groups  of  peas- 
ants, and  talked  with  an  air  of  secrecy  and  wonder  about  the 
misfortune  which  had  befallen  Herr  von  Vlierbeke.  Not  a 
few  of  those  present  laughed  loudly,  and  entertained  them- 
selves with  all  sort  of  jests,  till  the  clerk  began  to  read  a  list 
«f  the  articles  to  be  sold.     Half  an  hour  after,  the  sale  began. 


818  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

The  clerk  was  just  engaged  commending  a  beantifal  inlaid 
wardrobe,  when  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  himself  entered  the  hall, 
and  took  up  his  position  beside  the  auctioneer.  His  appear- 
ance caused  a  general  movement  among  the  bystanders: 
heads  were  put  together,  and  they  whispered  to  each  other, 
looking  at  the  nobleman  at  the  same  time  with  a  sort  of  im- 
pudent curiosity,  with  which  in  some  cases  a  feeling  of  sym- 
pathy was  mingled  ;  but  on  the  countenances  of  the  majority, 
nothing  could  be  read  but  indifference  or  cheerfulness.  This, 
however,  lasted  only  for  a  minute ;  for  the  calm  and  dignified 
look  of  the  nobleman  soon  inspired  them  with  respect  and 
admiration.  He  was  certainly  poor,  and  misfortune  had  done 
what  it  could  to  prostrate  him  so  far  as  wealth  was  concerned ; 
but  out  of  his  eyes,  and  his  clear,  calm  features,  there  beamed 
a  free,  courageous  soul,  whose  greatness  and  gentle  dignity 
were  unimpaired  by  adversity. 

The  clerk,  meanwhile,  proceeded  with  the  auction,  and  was 
instructed  in  the  recommendation  of  certain  articles  by  Herr 
Ton  Vlierbeke,  who  gave  him  information  regarding  their 
origin,  their  age,  and  real  value. 

Borne  noblemen  from  the  vicinity,  who  in  earlier  times  had 
been  on  friendly  terms  with  Lenora's  father,  now  advanced  to 
speak  with  him  about  his  misfortune;  but  he  successfully 
evaded  both  their  curiosity  and  their  compassion.  He  spoke 
so  unconstrainedly,  and  remained  so  entirely  master  of  him- 
self, that  they  found  no  opportunity  of  displaying  their  useless 
sympathy.  In  his  conduct,  his  bearing,  his  smile,  there  was 
something  so  dignified  and  commanding,  that  every  one  left 
him  with  the  deepest  respect. 

But  calm  and  collected  as  the  countenance  of  Herr  von 
Vlierbeke  was,  strong  and  undiminished  as  was  the  energy  of 
•onl,  and  high  sense  of  personal  dignity,  which  sparkled  in  his 
tje,  the  most  painful  sufierings  secretly  oppressed  his  heart 


TBE  POOR  noblemah.  329 

Everything  whicli  had  belonged  to  his  ancestors,  objects  which 
bore  the  arms  of  his  family,  and  had  been  piously  cherished  in 
his  house  for  centuries,  he  now  saw  sold  for  a  trifle,  and  pass 
into  the  hands  of  pawnbrokers  and  second-hand  dealers.  As 
these  precious  memorials  of  the  past  were  one  after  the  other 
placed  upon  the  table,  the  famous  history  of  his  forefathers 
was  unrolled  before  him,  and  he  endured  a  pang  as  painful, 
as  if  in  the  parting  from  every  little  treasure  a  fond  memory 
had  been  torn  from  his  bleeding  heart. 

The  sale  was  nearly  at  an  end,  when  the  portraits  of  the 
distinguished  men  who  had  borne  the  name  of  Vlierbeke  were 
taken  from  the  wall  and  put  up  to  auction.  The  first,  that 
of  the  hero  of  St.  Quentin,  fell  to  an  old  broker  for  the 
wretched  sum  of  thr^e  francs  I  There  was  such  a  bitter 
mockery  in  the  sale  of  the  portraits,  and  the  ridiculously  low 
prices  which  they  brought,  that  the  anguish  of  the  nobleman's 
heart  now  first  began  to  reveal  itself  in  his  face,  spite  of  his 
utmost  efforts  at  self-control.  With  downcast  eyes,  he  sank 
for  a  time  into  sad  and  desponding  thoughts ;  then  raised  his 
head,  and,  evidently  deeply  affected,  left  the  room,  that  he 
might  avoid  witnessing  the  sale  of  the  remaining  portraits. 

The  sun  had  still  a  fourth  of  its  daily  journey  to  perform 
before  reaching  the  western  horizon.  At  Grinselhof,  a  pro- 
found quiet  has  succeeded  the  tumultuous  noise  of  tradesmen : 
no  human  being  is  any  longer  visible  in  the  lonely  garden 
walks.  The  gate  is  shut,  and  everything  has  returned  to  its 
accustomed  calm :  one  might  suppose  that  its  stillness  had 
never  been  broken. 

The  door  of  Herr  von  Vlierbeke's  dwelling  opens,  and  on 
the  threshold  appear  two  people,  an  aged  man  and  a  young 
maiden,  each  with  a  bundle  in  their  hands,  arid  seemingly  pre- 
pared for  a  journey.  It  it  difficult  at  first  to  reoognise  in  theie 


YALE!  OF  FLEMIfiH  UFE, 

poorly-clad  people  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  and  his  daughter ;  bat 
such  they  are,  though  one  would  scarcely  suspect  it.  They 
have  evidently  endeavoured  to  dress  in  a  manner  suitable  to 
their  altered  circumstances,  and  to  appear  as  modest  and  un- 
pretending as  possible. 

Lenora  wears  a  gQwn  of  dark  calico,  a  hood,  and  a  little 
square  neckerchief;  her  beautiful  curls  are  invisible — either 
concealed  by  her  hood,  or  more  probably  fallen  under  the 
scissors.  The  poor  nobleman  wears  a  coat  of  coarse  cloth, 
buttoned  to  the  chin,  and  a  cap  with  a  broad  shade,  which 
*lmost  entirely  conceals  his  couiitenance. 

Spite  of  what  they  have  done  to  conceal  their  former  rank 
%nd  descent,  there  yet  reigns,  even  in  their  dress,  a  certain 
^;race,  and  something  undefinable  in  their  gait  and  air  which 
aidicate  a  high  breeding.  The  countenance  of  the  father 
was  calm ;  and  it  was  impossible  to  say  whether  sorrow,  joy, 
or  indifference  was  most  eonspicuous  in  it.  Lenora  looks 
firm  and  courageous,  although  the  departure  from  her  birth- 
place, and  the  home  which  she  had  loved  from  her  childhood 
— from  those  richly-foliaged  trees,  under  whose  shade  her 
heart  had  experienced  the  first  rapturous  feeling  of  love — from 
the  graceful  jessamine,  at  whose  foot  the  timid  confession  first 
fell  upon  her  ear  from  the  lips  of  Gustav  I — yes,  she  is  firm 
and  courageous,  although  this  solemn  farewell  fills  her  heart 
with  sadness.  But  she  must  support  her  sufiering  parent; 
watch  the  fluctuating  emotions  of  his  soul  as  they  appear  and 
disappear  on  his  countenance ;  like  a  sentinel  keep  guard  over 
his  heart,  that  by  proofs  of  her  infinite  affection,  she  may  chase 
away  the  grief  which  would  overpower  it.  And  therefore  it 
is  that  her  look  is  so  clear  and  sweet  when  it  meets  her 
father's.  With  slow  steps,  father  and  daughter  approach  the 
farm,  and  enter  to  take  leave  of  the  farmer  and  his  wife. 

The  latter  was  alone  with  her  maid,  on  the  ground-floor. 


THE  POOR  NOBLEMAlf.  381 

**  Mother  Beth/'  said  the  nobleman,  in  a  gentie  a&d  feetls 
tone,  **  we  come  to  bid  you  farewell." 

The  woman  looked  at  them  for  a  moment,  arranged  hei 
dress  hurriedly,  and  then  putting  her  apron  before  her  eyes, 
rwa  out  by  the  back-door  lamenting  loudly  as  she  went. 
The  maid  laid  her  head  on  the  window-sill  and  began  to  sob, 
and  refused  all  consolation.  The  woman  returned  in  lera 
than  a  minute,  accompanied  by  her  husband. 

"Alas,  it  is  true  then,  sir  I"  said  the  farmer's  wife,  with 
choking  voice.  "  You  leave  Grinselhof,  and  we  are  never  to 
see  you  again  1 " 

"Come,  come,  good  Mother  Beth,"  said  the  nobleman, 
taking  her  hand,  "  do  not  weep  on  that  accoimt ;  you  see  that 
we  endure  our  fate  patiently." 

The  woman  raised  her  head,  again  looked  at  her  former 
master  and  mistress,  and  began  to  weep  more  uncontrollably 
than  ever.  The  fanner  stood  for  a  moment  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground,  and  then  suddenly  said  to  the  nobleman 
with  a  firm  voice,  in  which  considerable  effort  was  apparent — 

"I  beg,  sir,  that  you  will  let  me  have  a  few  words  with 
you  alone." 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke  followed  him  into  another  apartment. 
The  farmer  shut  the  door,  and  said  timidly — 

"Gracious  sir,  I  scarcely  venture  to  tell  you  what  my 
prayer  is.     Will  you  forgive  me  if  it  displeases  you?" 

"  Speak  out  freely,  friend,"  replied  the  nobleman,  with  a 
kind  smile. 

"  You  see,  sir,"  stammered  the  farmer,  much  affected,  "  it 
is  to  you  that  I  owe  all  that  I  have  ever  earned.  When  I 
married  my  Beth  T  had  nothing,  and  you  gave  us  this  farm 
at  a  low  rent.  We  have  prospered  by  God's  favour,  and 
under  your  protection ;  while  you,  on  the  contrary,  our  bene- 
fMstor,  have  met  with  misfortune,  and  now  are  forced  to  leave 


TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFK. 

your  home.  God  alone  knows  whither  you  are  bound,  or  what 
fate  awaits  you.  Perhaps  to  endure  poverty  and  want — but 
no,  that  must  not  happen.  I  would  reproach  myself  all  my 
life  long,  and  it  would  be  to  me  a  continual  grief;  every- 
thing, sir,  which  I  possess,  is  at  your  service." 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke  tremulously  pressed  the  farmer's  hand, 
and  said,  deeply  moved — 

"  Yon  are  a  good  man.  I  should  be  happy  to  be  obliged 
to  you;  but  give  up  your  kind  intentions,  my  friend,  and 
retain  what  you  have  earned  by  the  sweat  of  your  brow.  Do 
not  be  anxious  about  us ;  with  God's  help,  we  shall  be  able 
to  find  some  tolerable  way  of  life." 

"  Ah,  sir,"  implored  the  farmer,  "  do  not  refuse  the  little 
assistance  which  I  can  give."  He  opened  a  drawer,  and  pro- 
duced a  heap  of  silver  coins.  "See,"  he  continued,  "this 
could  not  compensate  for  the  hundredth  part  of  the  kindness 
which  you  have  always  shown  to  us.  Grant  me  this  one  fa- 
vour, which  I  beg  from  your  magnanimity.  Take  this  money : 
if  it  were  to  spare  you  a  single  hour's  misery,  I  would  be 
grateful  to  God  for  it  during  my  life." 

Tears  of  emotion  gushed  from  the  nobleman's  eyes,  and 
with  difficulty  controlling  his  feelings,  he  said — 

"  Thanks,  thanks,  my  good  friend ;  but  I  must  refuse  it. 
Every  ftirther  attempt  is  useless.  Let  us  go  into  the  other 
room." 

"  But,  sir,"  cried  the  farmer  despairingly,  "  whither  do  yor 
go  ?    For  God's  sake,  tell  me  I " 

"  It  is  impossible,"  replied  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  **  for  I  dt 
not  myself  know.  And  did  I  know  it,  prudence  would  pre- 
vent my  informing  any  one." 

He  entered  the  other  room  as  he  uttered  these  words,  and 
found  all,  even  Lenora,  in  tears.  The  maiden  hung  on  ths 
woman's  neck,  while  the  servant  girl  kissed  her  young  mif- 


THE  POOB  NOBLEMAN.  38S 

j'b  hand.  The  nobleman  at  once  perceived  that  it  was 
necessary  to  bring  this  painful  scene  to  a  close ;  and  address- 
ing a  few  earnest  words  to  his  daughter,  she  controlled  her  emo- 
tions, and  made  an  effort  to  appear  calm.  They  now  warmly 
pressed  each  other's  hands,  and  gave  the  parting  kiss ;  and 
then  father  and  daughter  took  up  their  little  bundles,  and 
went  across  the  bridge  of  Grinselhof,  on  their  way  towards 
the  open  heath.  For  long,  the  people  of  the  farm  followed 
them  with  their  eyes,  till  they  disappeared  behind  the  trees. 

Silently  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  walked  along  the  heath  road, 
till  he  gained  an  eminence  behind  which  rose  a  thick  fir- 
wood,  limiting  the  prospect  on  one  side.  -  He  knew  that  when 
he  struck  into  the  path  through  this  wood,  Grinselhof  would 
be  lost  to  view.  On  this  spot,  then,  he  paused,  and  turned 
slowly  round.  Once  more  he  threw  a  parting  look  on  the 
estate  and  the  house  which  his  forefathers  had  possessed,  and 
where  his  own  cradle  had  stood.  Agonizing  thoughts  must 
now  have  been  passing  through  his  soul,  for  Lenora  trembled 
as  she  looked  at  him ;  still,  she  had  not  the  courage  to  inter- 
rupt his  sad  and  solemn  contemplation.  At  last  two  glisten- 
ing tears  trickled  slowly  down  the  broken-hearted  nobleman's 
face.  Lenora,  throwing  her  arms  around  him,  kissed  them 
away,  and  then,  with  consoling  and  affectionate  words,  drew 
him  gently  into  the  forest  path. 

Thay  were  soon  lost  in  Uie  gloomy  depths  of  the  wood. 


tl4  VAUg  OV  FLEMiaH 


OHAPTEB  IX. 

BcABCELT  eight  days  after  Herr  von  Vlierbeke's  departui*, 
a  second  letter  arrived  from  Italy.  The  postman  asked  the 
fiirmer  whither  the  former  owners  of  Grinselhof  had  removed ; 
but  neither  he  nor  any  other  could  give  him  information, 
for  all  were  alike  ignorant  of  the  country  in  which  they  had 
taken  refuge.  The  Notary  was  equally  unable  to  throw 
any  light  upon  the  matter.  The  letters  were  then  laid  aside 
in  the  post-office,  along  with  several  others  which  afterwards 
came  from  the  same  quarter ;  and  nobody  concerned  himself 
further  about  the  fate  of  the  poor  nobleman,  except  the  farmer 
of  Grinselhof,  who  never  failed,  every  Friday  when  he  went 
to  market,  to  make  diligent  inquiry  of  the  country  people 
whether  they  had  seen  his  old  master  ;  but  no  one  had  any- 
thing to  communicate. 

Almost  four  months  had  now  elapsed,  when  one  day  a 
handsome  travelling- carriage  drew  up  before  the  Notary'i 
house.  The  door  was  opened,  and  a  young  man  in  travelling 
clothes  hurriedly  entered  the  hall. 

"The  Herr  Notary,"  he  said  impatiently  to  the  servant. 
The  latter  replied  that  his  master  was  engaged,  and  could  not 
see  him  for  a  few  minutes ;  and  then,  conducting  the  young 
gentleman  to  a  room,  requested  him  to  wait ;  and  there  left 
him.     The  youth  seemed  very  much  annoyed  at  the  delay. 


I>OOK  NOBLEKAM. 

•iicl,  throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  muttered  a  few  words  of 
impatience. 

The  impatierce,  however,  soon  gave  way  to  melancholy, 
and,  looking  to  the  ground,  he  became  absorbed  in  deep  and 
apparently  sad  thoughts. 

Gradually  his  features  brightened,  and  a  cheerfiil  smile 
played  round  his  mouth  as  he  raised  his  head,  and  said  with 
joy  and  ardour — 

"  Ah,  how  my  heart  throbs  with  desire !  How  sweet  is  the 
hope — the  certainty — of  seeing  her  again  on  this  very  day ; 
of  rewarding  her  for  her  fidelity ;  of  compensating  her  for  a 
six  months'  sorrow  ;  of  kneeling  before  her,  and  exclaiming — 
*  Lenora,  Lenora,  my  sweet  bride  I  he  has  consented  to  our 
union.  I  bring  you  wealth,  love,  happiness  I  I  return  with 
the  will  and  the  power  to  gladden  your  father's  heart,  and 
make  his  old  age  happy ;  and  to  live  with  you  both  in  the 
paradise  which  we  dreamt  of.  0  my  beloved  I  freely  receive 
me  into  your  arms ;  accept  my  bridal  kiss ;  I  am  your  bride- 
g^om,  and  nothing  in  life  will  ever  again  separate  us.  Oh, 
come — one  embrace,  one  eternal  bond  unites  the  father  and 
his  child  with  me.  Ah,  yes,  I  feel  that  our  souls  are  one — 
one  in  their  desires  and  one  in  their  love.  Thanks,  thanks, 
OGodT" 

While  he  uttered  these  words,  indulging  in  the  bright  pic- 
tures which  his  fancy  painted,  he  had  quite  forgotten  the  pre- 
sent, and,  rising  from  his  chair,  walked  up  and  down  in  his 
excitement.  A  noise  outside  the  room-door  brought  him  back 
to  reality,  and  restraining  his  feelings,  he  assumed  an  expres- 
ticr.  of  tranquillity,  although  the  cheerful  smile  still  lingered 
on  his  face.  In  a  short  time,  he  again  relapsed  into  musing  : 
ft  different  feeling  seemed  now  to  arise  in  his  heart,  for  a 
gentle  tremor  came  upon  him,  and  he  now  seemed  as  anxious 
and  desponding,  as  he  was  formerly  hopeful  and  glad* 


TALES  OF  FLEMISH  UFB. 

**  But  what  if  I  am  the  victim  of  a  self-delusion  I  My  htten 
have  been  unanswered,  my  entreaties  unheeded ;  even  my 
tears  have  been  vain.     And  if  Lenora" — 

He  stood  for  a  time  motionless,  his  hand  upon  his  brow ; 
but  suddenly  he  cast  these  gloomy  thoughts  from  him,  and 
with  conviction  and  fervour  exclaimed — 

"  Away,  away  with  these  suspicions,  which  would  creep  like 
a  poisonous  snake  into  my  bosom  !  Lenora  forget  me — reject 
me  ?  No,  no  ;  it  is  impossible  I  Has  she  not  said  that  our 
love  is  eternal  and  indestructible?  Can  Lenora's  lips  lie? 
Can  a  heart  like  hers  be  unfaithful  ?  Oh,  peace,  peace — ^you 
•lander  her  I " 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  these  last  words,  when  the  door  ol 
the  apartment  was  opened ;  and  the  young  man,  concealing 
111  emotion,  approached  the  Notary  with  a  composed  counte- 
nance. The  latter  entered  the  room  with  an  official  look, 
ready  to  adapt  his  words  and  bearing  to  the  rank  of  his  visi- 
tor. Scarcely  however  had  he  recognised  the  young  man, 
when  a  friendly  smile  lighted  up  his  countenance,  and  he  ap- 
proached him  with  open  arms,  saying — 

"  Welcome,  welcome,  Herr  Gustav !  I  have  expected  you 
for  some  days,  and  am  overjoyed  to  see  you  again.  No  doubt 
we  have  some  weighty  matters  to  arrange  together ;  I  thank 
you  for  the  confidence  you  place  in  me.  And  how  standi 
it  with  the  legacy,  to  talk  more  particularly?  Is  there  a 
will?" 

Some  melancholy  recollection  seemed  to  occur  to  Gustav ; 
and  as  he  drew  out  his  pocket-book,  an  expression  of  heartfelt 
grief  overspread  his  face.  The  Notary  perceived  it,  and  re- 
marked— 

**  It  grieved  me  deeply  to  hear  of  your  loss.  Your  good  uncle 
was  my  friend,  and  I  was  in  a  special  manner  soiTy  to  hear  of  his 
When  far  from  his  fatherland,  the  call  of  God  reached 


HOB  fOOR  NOBI^JUX, 

Mm.  It  IB  a  great  misfortune  ;  but  snch  is  man's  destiny ; 
and  we  must  console  ourselves  with  the  thought  that  we  are 
all  mortal  I  Your  uncle  had  no  ordinary  affection  for  you, 
sir ;  and  no  doubt  he  has  remembered  you  in  the  final  arrange- 
ment of  his  property.'* 

"  Have  the  goodness  to  convince  yourself  how  dearly  he 
loved  me,"  said  Gustav,  laying  a  document  on  the  table. 

The  Notary  glanced  through  the  paper.  What  he  read 
seemed  to  be  as  agreeable  as  it  was  unexpected. 

Gustav  meanwhile  sat  with  downcast  eyes ;  but  moving 
about  restlessly  on  his  seat,  as  if  the  victim  of  an  irresistible 
impatience. 

After  some  minutes,  the  Notary  rose  from  his  chair,  and 
said,  in  a  very  respectful  tone — 

"  Permit  me,  Herr  Denecker,  to  wish  you  much  happiness. 
These  papers  are  unassailable,  and  in  complete  and  legal 
form.  Sole  heir  I  Are  you  aware  of  all,  sir  ?  You  possess 
more  than  a  million  1 " 

"  We  shall  speak  of  this  at  greater  length  at  another  time," 
interrupted  Gustav  impatiently.  "  I  drove  here  immediately 
en  my  arrival  to  beg  a  favour  of  you." 

"  J  wait  your  commands,  sir." 

"  You  are,  I  believe,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke's  man  of  busi- 
ness?" 

**  At  your  service." 

"  I  learned  from  my  departe(!  ancle  that  Herr  von  Vlier- 
beke  was  reduced  to  extreme  poverty.  I  have  reasons  which 
make  me  most  anxious  to  free  him  from  his  difiBculties." 

"  I  imagine,  sir,"  replied  the  Notary,  "  that  you  wish  to 
perform  a  deed  of  benevolence  ;  you  cannot  apply  your  wealth 
better  than  in  this  instance.  I  know  how  Herr  von  Vlierbeke 
fell  into  difficulties,  and  what  he  has  suffered ;  he  was  a  sacri- 
fice to  his  own  generosity  and  honour.     Perhaps  he  pushed 


tt8  Y1L10  OF  FLEMISH  LIFB. 

those  virtues  to  tie  verge  of  folly ;  however  that  may  be,  M 
certainly  deserved  a  better  fate." 

"  Well  then,  Herr  Notary,  I  entreat  you  to  be  so  good  as 
to  inform  me  what  must  be  done  in  order  to  assist  Herr  von 
Vlierbeke  without  hurting  his  sense  of  honour.  Among  other 
things,  I  am  aware  there  exists  a  bond  for  four  thousand  francs 
in  favour  of  the  von  Hoogebaen  family.  This  bond  I  must 
get  possession  of  at  once,  were  it  to  cost  me  ten  times  its 
value." 

"With  visible  astonishment,  and  without  replying,  the 
Notary  looked  at  Herr  Denecker  with  such  a  peculiar  expres- 
sion, that  the  latter  asked  anxiously— 

"  What  is  there  in  my  purpose  to  alarm  you  ?  You  mate 
me  tremble*" 

"  I  cannot  know  the  precise  extent  of  your  anxiety  ;  but  I 
fear  that  the  information  which  I  have  to  give  you  will  grieve 
you  deeply.  I  have  scarcely  courage  to  speak  it.  If  my  con- 
jecture is  well  grounded,  I  am  sorry  for  you,  sir." 

"Heavens!  what  do  you  say?"  cried  Gustav  with  alarm. 
"Explain  yourself^  quickly.  Has  death  visited  Grinselhof? 
Ib  the  only  hope  of  my  life  annihilated  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  the  Notary  quickly.  "  Do  not  be 
•larmed ;  both  still  live  ;  but  a  great  misfortune  has  befallen 
them." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  said  the  young  man  with  feverish  anxiety. 

•*  Compose  yourself,"  replied  the  Notary.  "  Pray  sit  down, 
and  listen.  It  is  not  so  bad  as  you  suppose ;  your  wealth  ii 
able  materially  to  alleviate  their  misery." 

**  Oh,  God  be  thanked  I"  exclaimed  Gustav  with  joy.  "  But 
I  conjure  you,  sir,  to  make  haste  to  put  my  mind  at  ease.  De- 
lay is  torture." 

"  You  must  know,  then,  that  the  bond  fell  due  during  youf 
absence.     Herr  vcv\  T'lierbeke  spout  months  in  the  vain  en- 


POOB  NOBLEMAN.  99$ 

dearour  to  procnre  money  to  meet  it.  In  addition  to  this,  hii 
property  was  burdened  with  the  heaviest  mortgages.  In  the 
end,  in  order  to  avoid  the  disgrace  of  a  sale  by  order  of  a  court 
of  law,  he  had  his  entire  real  and  personal  estate  sold  by  public 
auction.  The  proceeds  very  nearly  cleared  his  debts ;  every 
creditor  has  been  satisfied  ;  and  all  have  expressed  their  admi- 
ration of  the  noble  and  upright  conduct  of  Herr  von  Vlier- 
beke,  who  preferred  to  expose  himself  to  extreme  misery 
rather  than  permit  the  slightest  reproach  to  be  attached  to 
his  name." 

"  Does  Herr  von  Vlierbeke,  then,  now  occupy  his  paternal 
property  as  a  tenant  ?" 

"  No ;  he  has  left  the  place." 

"  And  where  is  he  to  be  found  ?  I  must  see  him  and  speak 
with  him  before  this  day  is  over." 

"  I  cannot  tell  where  he  is  to  be  found." 

"How — ^you  do  not  know?" 

"  Nobody  knows ;  they  disappeared  without  informing  any 
one  of  their  intentions." 

"  Heavens  I  is  it  possible  ?"  exclaimed  Gustav  with  anxiety. 
"  What  I  am  I  to  be  still  longer  separated  from  her,  and  with- 
out knowing  even  what  has  befallen  her  ?  I  tremble  when  I 
think  of  her  possible  fate.  Do  you  not  possess  the  slightest 
clue  to  their  place  of  residence  ?  Does  no  one,  no  one  know 
where  they  are?" 

"  No  one,"  repeated  the  Notary.  "  On  the  very  evening 
after  the  sale,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  left  Grinselhof  on  foot,  and 
crossed  the  heath,  in  what  direction  is  unknown.  Since  then 
I  have  often  endeavoured  to  discover  his  place  of  retreat,  but 
always  in  vain." 

This  melancholy  intelligence  affected  the  young  man 
deeply.  He  grew  pale,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands, 
to  conceal  the  emotion  by  which  he  was  agitated.     Thon^ 


t40  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LOTI. 

it  pained  him  deeply  to  learn  from  the  Notary  the  fbll  extent 
of  the  father's  poverty,  he  partially  knew  it  before ;  but  the 
certainty  of  not  soon  meeting  his  beloved,  and  rescuing  her 
out  of  her  misery,  filled  his  heart  with  intense  grief;  while 
the  uncertainty  which  hung  over  her  fate  made  him  fear  the 
worst. 

The  Notary  contemplated  the  young  man  in  silence,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders  at  times,  and  with  an  expression  of  sym- 
pathy on  his  countenance.  At  last  he  said,  with  an  attempt 
at  consolation — 

"  You  are  young,  sir ;  and,  after  the  manner  of  youth,  you 
carry  both  joy  and  sorrow  too  far.  Your  despair  has  no  suffi- 
cient ground.  In  the  time  in  which  we  live,  it  is  an  easy 
matter  to  find  out  people  if  we  will  only  seek  for  them.  With 
money  and  activity,  one  is  almost  certain  of  discovering  Herr 
Ton  Vlierbeke's  retreat  within  a  few  days — even  if  it  is  in  a 
foreign  land.  If  you  will  commission  me  to  make  the  search, 
I  will  spare  neither  time  nor  labour  to  procure  you  satisfactory 
intelligence  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  And  I,  on  my  side,  will  put  into  requisition  the  extensive 
correspondence  of  my  house,  and  never  cease  to  search  till  I 
discover  their  hiding-place." 

"Take  courage,  then,  Herr  Denecker;  I  have  no  doubt 
that  our  efforts  will  quickly  be  crowned  with  success.  And 
now  that  you  are  convinced  of  my  readiness  to  serve  you,  I 
should  like,  with  your  permission,  to  take  the  liberty  to  ad- 
dress to  you  a  few  calm  and  earnest  words ;  though,  perhaps, 
I  have  no  right  to  question  you  about  your  plans,  and  still 
less  to  allow  myself  to  imagine  for  a  moment  that  they  are 
not  in  the  highest  degree  praiseworthy.  Your  intention  is, 
then,  to  marry  Miss  Lenora?" 

•*  My  unalterable  intention,"  replied  the  young  man. 

•*  Unalterable ! "  rejoined  the  Notary ;"  so  be  it,  then.    Bui 


POOR  NOBLEMAH.  S41 

ihe  confidence  which  your  honoured  uncle  continually  placed 
in  me,  and  my  office  as  notary  and  adviser  of  the  family,  make 
it  my  duty  to  open  your  eyes  calmly  to  what  you  are  about  to 
do.  You  are  a  millionnaire^  and  bear  a  name  which  is  itself 
worth  a  handsome  capital  on  the  Exchange.  Herr  von  Vlier- 
beke  possesses  nothing — his  poverty  is  universally  knowa; 
and  whether  the  world  acts  justly  or  unjustly,  certain  it  is, 
that  it  condemns  the  fallen  nobleman  to  disgrace  and  con- 
tempt. With  wealth,  youth,  and  a  person  like  yours,  you 
may  aspire  to  the  hand  of  a  very  rich  heiress,  and  double 
your  possessions. 

Gustav  had  at  first  listened  with  undisguised  impatience  to 
these  words ;  and  then,  turning  his  eyes  from  the  Notary,  had 
begun  to  think  of  other  things.  At  this  point,  he  turned 
round  hastily,  and  said — 

"  It  is  well ;  you  do  your  duty,  and  I  thank  you.  Enough. 
Now  tell  me  to  whom  Grinselhof  belongs  at  present?" 

The  Notary  seemed  somewhat  offended  at  this  sudden  inter- 
ruption, and  at  the  small  impression  which  his  words  seemed 
to  make ;  but  concealing  his  vexation  under  a  polite  smile,  he 
replied — "  I  see  that  you  have  resolved  on  your  course;  act, 
then,  according  to  your  inclination.  The  holders  of  the  mort- 
gages still  keep  possession  of  Grinselhof,  because  it  sold  for 
less  than  its  value,  and  their  claims." 

"  And  who  dwells  in  the  Castle  ?" 

"  It  is  at  present  uninhabited.  No  one  leaves  town  during 
the  winter." 

"It  is  possible,  then,  to  purchase  it  from  the  present 
owners?" 

"  Certainly ;  I  myself  have  orders  to  dispose  of  it  for  tht 
ralue  of  the  mortgages." 

"  Grinselhof,  then,  belongs  to  me,  Herr  Notary.  Hare  til* 
goodness  to  inform  the  owners  of  this  immediately." 


MS  TALIS  OF  FLEmSH  LEFI. 

"  Very  good,  nr ;  yon  may  consider  Grinselhof  henceforth 
as  yonr  property.  K  yon  have  any  desire  to  see  the  phice, 
yon  will  find  the  keys  with  the  farmer." 

Gustav  took  np  his  hat  to  go;  and  bidding  the  Notai^s 
adieu,  he  said — 

"  I  am  worn  out,  and  reqnire  rest ;  I  feel  deeply  the  melan- 
choly intelligence  which  yon  have  given  me.  Farewell  for 
the  present,  sir,  and  have  the  goodness  to  fiilfil  your  promise 
with  as  little  delay  as  possible.  My  gratitude  will  be  greater 
than  you  suppose.     Adieu  till  morning." 

Sorrowfully  and  anxiously  Gustav  left  the  lawyer's  house, 
to  mourn  in  solitude  over  the  sad  news  which  he  had  ao  ua- 
iKfsotedly  hMid. 


VOOK  NOBUnUM.  Mt 


OHAPTEB  X. 

Trk  charming  spring  liad  now  divested  the  earth  of  iti 
gloomy  winter  garment,  and  breathed  new  life  and  energy 
into  every  created  thing.  Grinselhof,  too,  shone  again  with 
that  wild  and  free  beanty  which  was  peculiar  to  it:  the 
stately  oaks  unfolded  their  leaves;  the  Alpine  roses  were 
already  in  full  blossom;  the  insects  swarmed  and  hummed 
among  the  bushes ;  and  the  reviving  sunlight  shed  its  gentle 
warmth  on  the  tender  opening  leaves. 

Grinselhof  is  still  the  same :  its  walks  are  as  solitary  as 
ever,  and  a  deathlike  stillness  reigns  among  its  groves  and 
?opses ;  but  around  the  house  there  are  signs  of  motion  and 
life.  Two  servants  may  be  seen  engaged  in  cleaning  a  costly 
chariot,  and  the  neighing  and  stamping  of  horses  may  be 
heard  proceeding  from  the  once  untenanted  stables.  A  young 
girl  stands  at  the  door,  and  talks  and  laughs  with  the  ser- 
vants. Suddenly  the  sound  of  a  silver  table-bell  is  heard, 
and  the  maid  runs  into  the  house,  exclaiming — 

"  Heavens  I  there  is  the  master's  bell.  He  rings  for  break- 
fiist,  and  there  is  nothing  ready  I" 

After  the  lapse  of  a  short  time,  she  ascends  the  stairs, 
carrying  the  handsome  breakfiurt-service  into  the  upper  room, 
and  places  it  before  a  young  man,  who  sits  there  silent  and 
mofingy  with  his  head  restmg  on  his  hands. 


844  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

Awaking  fix)m  a  reverie,  he  takes  his  breakfast  with  the  air 
of  one  who  is  unconscions  of  what  he  is  doing. 

The  room  is  singularly  furnished.  While  some  pieces  of 
furniture  are  remarkable  for  beauty  and  costliness,  and  as  pro- 
ducts of  the  most  recent  taste,  various  chairs  and  cabinets  are 
as  conspicuous  for  the  high  antiquity  indicated  by  their  dark- 
brown  hue  and  their  elaborate  carving.  One  sees  clearly 
that  some  things  have  stood  the  tear  and  wear  of  two  or  three 
centuries.  On  the  walls  hang  many  pictures  somewhat 
smoked,  and  of  very  ancient  date,  whose  gilded  frames,  all 
covered  with  dust,  have  long  since  lost  their  brightness;  they 
are  portraits  of  statesmen,  abbots,  and  prelates.  These  pic- 
tures, and  many  other  objects  in  the  room,  bear  the  arms  of 
Herr  von  Vlierbeke's  family.  It  was  universally  known  that 
a  public  auction  had  been  held  at  Grinselhof,  where  every- 
thing which  had  belonged  to  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  had  been 
distributed  among  many  purchasers,  and  found  its  way  into 
the  most  diverse  places ;  and  how  was  it  possible  that  those 
objects  could  have  returned  to  the  spot  which  they  seemed  to 
have  left  for  ever? 

The  gentleman  rises  from  his  chair,  but  still  with  the  same 
air  of  abstraction,  and  walks  slowly  up  and  down  the  room, 
pausing  at  times  to  gaze  sadly  at  the  portraits ;  then  resum- 
ing his  walk,  he  holds  his  hand  before  his  eyes,  as  if  he  would 
prevent  any  interruption  of  his  reverie.  Approaching  an  old- 
fashioned  cabinet  which  stands  on  a  corner  table,  and  opening 
it,  he  takes  out  a  few  trifling  articles,  and  among  the  rest  a 
pair  of  golden  earrings  and  a  necklace  of  red  coral  beads. 
He  gazes  at  these  objects  for  a  long  time  with  a  sweet  and 
melancholy  smile ;  a  deep  sigh  escapes  his  lips ;  he  raises  his 
mournful  eyes  to  heaven  ;  and  then  replacing  the  ornaments 
in  the  cabinet,  he  descends  the  stairs  into  the  court.  Reply- 
'ng  silently  to  the  respectful  greetings  of  his  servants,  as  h» 


THI  POOR  NOBLEMAH.  146 

pMses,  lie  is  soon  lost  among  the  gloomiest  paths  of  tie  snr- 
rounding  grounds.  He  pauses  before  an  Indian  jessamine, 
End  standing  there  with  folded  arms,  he  says  in  a  low  and 
earnest  tone — 

"  On  this  very  spot  the  confession  of  her  love  first  escaped 
her  virgin  lips ;  the  blush  of  modesty  suffused  her  brow,  and 
looking  shyly  down,  her  sweet  voice  murmured  the  sacred 
words,  while  I  was  too  deeply  moved,  too  wildly  transported 
by  my  infinite  happiness  to  speak,  but  stood  trembling  and 
mlent  by  her  side,  as  if  the  gi'eatness  of  my  good  fortune  ter- 
rified me.  0  thou  who  hast  so  often  heard  her  sweet-toned 
voice — thou,  the  witness  of  those  pure  and  rapturous  hours  I 
the  spring  has  again  crowned  thee  with  young  leaves,  but  at 
thy  feet  dwell  no  more  either  joy  or  hope  I — the  lamentation 
of  a  mourning  heart  alone  rises  among  thy  foliage !  All  is 
melancholy  and  silent ;  she  whose  presence  breathed  life  into 
thy  solitude  is  gone  I  We  have  lost  the  angel  who,  by  a 
gingle  word,  could  change  this  spot  into  a  beautiful  heaven, 
and  spread  around  her  joy,  hope,  and  blessedness,  as  the  sun 
diffuses  light  and  life  I  Ah  I  it  has  left  us,  that  soul  of  love  I 
and  nothing,  nothing  remains  save  memory  I " 

After  a  short  silence,  he  struck  into  another  path  and  wan- 
dered among  the  bushes,  from  time  to  time  pausing  before 
objects  which  were  dear  to  him  as  witnesses  of  past  occur- 
rences, and  spoke  eloquently  to  him  of  her  whom  he  mourned 
80  deeply.  He  stood  by  the  edge  of  the  pond,  and  looked  at 
the  swarms  of  goldfishes  as  they  sported  in  the  WAter ;  and 
gazed  with  a  loving  eye  at  the  pinks  which  adorned  the  bor- 
ders of  the  broad  paths,  and  which  had  been  reared  and  tended 
by  her  with  such  motherly  affection.  And  so  he  gave  himself 
up  to  the  past,  and  poured  forth  his  sorrow  to  every  object 
which  she  had  known  or  loved,  till  at  last,  weary  and  de- 
ipcmding,  he  sank  upon  a  chair  under  the  old  jessamine.    H« 


8ii  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  UWE, 

had  sat  there  for  a  considerable  time,  indnlging  his  grie^ 
when  the  farmer's  wife  approached  him  with  a  book,  and  said 
cheerfully — 

"  Here  is  a  book,  sir,  in  which  Miss  Lenora  used  often  to 
read.  When  at  market  yesterday,  my  husband  recognised 
the  man  who  bought  it  at  the  auction,  and  accompanied  him 
to  his  house  to  get  it.  It  must  be  a  fine  book ;  but  had  it 
not  belonged  to  our  young  mistress,  I  would  not  have  touched 
it  for  all  the  money  in  the  world,  for  my  husband  says  that 
it  is  called  Lucifer," 

While  the  farmer's  wife  was  speaking,  the  gentleman  had 
taken  the  book  from  her,  and  turned  over  its  leaves  with  in- 
tense pleasure,  without  seeming  to  hear  a  word  which  the 
woman  addressed  to  him.  At  last  he  raised  his  head,  and 
said  with  a  friendly  smile — 

**I  thank  you  for  your  care  and  attention,  Frau  Jans. 
Yon  cannot  conceive  how  it  delights  me  to  get  possession  of 
anything  which  belonged  to  your  mistress.  Be  assured  that 
I  shall  not  forget  your  willing  service." 

After  saying  this,  he  again  examined  the  book,  and  seemed 
to  peruse  it  with  attention.  The  farmer's  wife,  however,  still 
remained  where  she  was,  and  at  last  said  in  a  sorrowful  tone — 

"  Permit  me,  sir,  to  ask  whether  you  have  yet  heard  any 
news  of  Miss  Lenora?" 

The  gentleman  shook  his  head,  and  replied — 

"  Alas  I  not  the  smallest.  All  our  efforts  have  been  hithert  J 
fruitless." 

"  That  is  very  unfortunate,"  said  the  woman  sorrowfully. 
"  Gtod  knows  where  she  is  now,  and  what  she  has  to  bear  I 
She  said  to  me  when  she  was  going  away,  that  she  intended 
to  work  for  her  father.  Alas  1  one  must  have  been  accustomed 
to  work  from  childhood,  if  one  is  to  earn  their  bread  by  their 
Qfim  hands.    Oh,  when  I  think  of  it,  it  is  heart-rending  1    IV 


POOB  NOBLElfAH.  S47 

ihiok  that  our  poor  young  lady  is  perhaps  at  thU  moment 
■erving  others,  and  is  forced  to  work  like  a  slave  for  her  daily 
bread.  I,  too,  have  served,  sir,  and  know  what  it  is  to  work 
from  morning  till  night — and  so  beautiful,  so  refined,  so 
amiable,  and  so  kind-hearted  1  Oh,  sir,  it  is  too  sad  I  I  can- 
not help  weeping  when  I  think  of  it  1 " 

She  began  to  shed  tears ;  and  the  gentleman,  touched  by 
the  genuine  and  heartfelt  sorrow  which  she  displayed,  looked 
at  her  in  silence  as  she  continued,  with  an  effort  at  self-con- 
trol, but  with  a  choking  voice — 

"And  now,  when  she  might  be  so  happy,  and  mistress 
again  of  Grinselhof,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  possessions,  in  the 
midst  of  which  she  was  born  and  brought  up ;  now,  when 
Herr  von  Vlierbeke  might  spend  the  rest  of  his  old  age  in 
peace,  and  without  any  more  troubles, — now  they  are  perhaps 
wandering  from  place  to  place,  poor,  and  neglected  by  every- 
body. Ah,  sir,  it  is  very  sad  indeed  to  know  that  a  bene- 
factor is  unfortunate,  and  not  to  be  able  to  do  anything  to 
help  him,  but  pray  to  God,  and  hope  for  His  compassion." 

Without  being  aware  of  it,  the  simple  woman  bad  touched 
the  most  sensitive  chords  in  the  heart  of  her  new  master,  and 
had  moved  him  deeply.  She  now  perceived  that  he  shed 
tears,  and  wrung  his  hands  with  an  expression  of  grief  and 
despair ;  and  with  some  anxiety  and  alarm,  she  added — 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,  for  having  caused  you  sorrow ;  but  my 
heart  is  so  full  of  this,  that  it  runs  over,  and  I  talk  on  scarcely 
knowing  what  I  say.  K  I  have  done  wrong,  you  are  much 
too  good  to  be  angry  with  me  for  loving  our  young  lady 
BO  much,  and  lamenting  her  fate.  Has  your  honour  any 
orders?" 

She  was  about  to  go,  but  the  gentleman  raised  hi«  head, 
ftod  said  with  suppressed  but  deep  feeling — 

^  I  be  angiy,  Frau  Jans,  because  yon  expre«  to  me  jcmi 


ilS^  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  LHV. 

lore  for  Lenora  ?  No ;  my  heart  rather  blesses  you  for  it. 
The  tears  which  you  have  drawn  from  me,  do  me  good — for 
I  suffer  much,  and  am  very  miserable.  Life  is  a  burden  to 
me,  and  were  the  merciful  God  to  call  me  away  from  this 
earth,  I  would  die  with  joy.  All  hope  of  seeing  her  again 
on  earth  is  gone ;  perhaps  Lenora  is  waiting  for  me  in  heaven 
above." 

"  Oh,  sir,  do  not  say  so,"  interrupted  the  woman  anxiously ; 
"  that  cannot  be." 

**  You  lament  her,  and  sometimes  shed  tears  for  her  sake, 
my  good  woman,"  he  continued,  without  paying  attention  to 
her  exclamation ;  "  but  you  cannot  understand  the  sorrow 
and  pain  which  I  feel, — how  not  a  single  minute  passes  with- 
out tearing  my  heart  with  some  new  agony.  For  eight  long 
months  to  have  prayed  to  God  for  the  highest  earthly  favour 
He  could  confer — the  being  able  to  call  Lenora  my  bride,  to 
see  her  again,  to  overcome  all  obstacles,  to  make  her  happy  I 
And  then  almost  to  lose  my  senses  with  joy  and  rapture — ^to 
hasten  to  my  fatherland  with  lightning  speed  ;  and  now,  in- 
stead of  the  reward  I  hoped  for,  to  find  nothing  but  the  most 
hopeless  solitude — nay,  what  is  more  agonizing,  to  know  that 
my  beloved,  my  noble  Lenora,  is  unhappy,  and  not  have  the 
power  to  alleviate  her  misery,  and  raise  her  out  of  her  humili- 
ation ;  to  be  compelled  to  spend  the  days  of  her  sufferings  in 
impotent  despair,  and  not  even  to  have  the  poor  consolation 
that  she  still  survives  the  miseries  and  hardships  to  which 
she  has  been  exposed." 

Profound  silence  followed  this  violent  burst  of  grief.  The 
farmer's  wife  stood  with  downcast  eyes,  and  deeply  affected. 
After  a  short  interval,  she  said  in  a  consolatory  tone — 

**  Ah,  sir,  I  understand  your  grief  well.  But  who  knows 
but  some  sudden  and  unexpected  news  may  come,  after  all. 
God  is  good;    He  will  listen  to  our  prayers;   §ad  thea 


THE  POOR  NOBLEMAH.  Z4t9 

joy  for  theii  retam  will  make  us  qnite  forget  all  our  Bor- 
row." 

"  May  yonr  hopes  be  realized,  my  good  woman  1  but  it  ia 
now  more  than  seven  months  since  they  left  their  home,  and 
more  than  three  since  hundreds  of  men  have  received  orders 
to  search  for  them.  Inquiries  have  been  made  in  every  city, 
and  up  to  this  moment  not  the  smallest  news,  not  the  slightest 
trace,  that  they  still  live — that  they  are  still  in  this  world  I 
My  understanding  tells  me  that  I  ought  not  yet  wholly  to 
despair ;  but  my  impatient,  bleeding  heart  tortures  itself  with 
its  own  despair,  and  loudly  proclaims  that  *  I  have  for  ever  lost 
them — ^for  ever  1  * " 

He  rose  and  left  the  jessamine ;  but  as  he  moved  away,  he 
suddenly  raised  his  eyes  with  an  expression  of  surprise,  and 
pointing  towards  the  public  road,  said — 

"  Listen  I  do  you  hear  nothing  ?" 

"  The  tramp  of  a  horse's  feet,"  replied  the  woman,  withoat 
comprehending  why  the  noise  should  have  so  powerful  an 
effect  on  him. 

"  Poor  fool  I "  sighed  the  youth,  with  a  sad  smile  ;  "  what 
has  an  over-driven  horse  to  do  with  me,  after  all  ?" 

"  See,  see,  it  comes  this  way,"  cried  the  farmer's  wife,  with 
increasing  interest.  "  Heavens  1  it  is  a  messenger  from  the 
city  I  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  it.  0  may  he  bring  good 
news ! " 

The  rider  advanced  to  the  gate  at  full  gallop,  but  pulled 
the  rein  when  he  saw  the  gentleman  and  the  farmer's  wife 
coming  to  meet  him  ;  and,  dismounting,  drew  a  letter  from  his 
pocket,  and  gave  it  to  the  master  of  Grinselhof,  with  the  wordi 
— "Herr  Denecker,  I  come  from  the  Herr  Notary.  He 
ordered  me  to  ride  at  full  speed,  and,  without  stopping  onc« 
by  the  way,  to  give  you  this  letter."  He  then  led  his  smolE* 
in|f  horse  to  the  stable. 


TALEg  OF  FLEMISH  UFB. 

With  a  trembling  hand,  Herr  Denecker  broke  the  seal, 
while  the  farmer's  wife  looked  at  him  with  a  smiling  and 
hopeful  comitenance. 

When  Herr  Denecker  read  the  first  lines,  he  grew  pale  and 
trembled,  and  his  agitation  increased  the  further  he  read ;  bat 
at  last  he  exclaimed,  almost  mad  with  joy — 

"  God  be  praised  I  she  is  restored  to  me." 

"Oh,  sir,  sir  I"  exclaimed  Fran  Jans,  "have  you  good 
news?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  rejoice  with  me  I  Lenora  lives  I  I  know  where 
ihe  is,  and  I  go  to  fetch  her."  And  running  to  the  house, 
lie  called  his  servants  hurriedly,  and  said — 

"  Quick,  the  travelling  carriage,  the  English  horses,  my 
portmanteau,  my  cloak.     Make  haste,  fly  I " 

With  his  own  hand,  he  then  brought  down  several  articlea 
necessary  for  a  journey,  and  placed  them  in  the  carriage, 
which  had  been  already  drawn  out  of  the  coach-house.  The 
horses  were  yoked,  and  although  they  stamped  their  feet,  and 
champed  their  bits  with  impatience,  the  lash  was  not  spared. 
As  if  it  had  been  swept  on  by  the  winds,  the  carriage  dashed 
through  the  open  gate,  and  the  duBt  rose  in  thick  clondr  tram 
the  Antwerp  road. 


fooB  no: 


OHAPTBB  XL 

Wb  mnBt  now  transport  ourselveB  to  the  Frenoh  town  qf 
Nancy,  in  search  of  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  and  his  daughter. 
Arrived  there,  we  must  pass  through  several  streets  of  what 
IB  called  the  Old  Town,  and  stop  before  a  cobbler's  humbl* 
little  work-shop.  Pass  through  the  shop  and  ascend  thf 
•tairs — still  higher  ;  now  open  a  little  door. 

Here  everything  looks  very  poor,  but  extremely  neat  and 
clean.  The  curtains  of  that  little  bed  are  snow-white,  the 
well-scoured  stove  shines  with  a  brilliant  polish,  and  the  floor 
IB  strewed  with  sand  in  the  Flemish  fashion.  Before  the  open 
window,  stand  daisies  and  violets  in  a  wooden  box,  and 
blossom  in  the  sun,  and  hard  by  hangs  a  cage  with  a  gold- 
finch. 

How  Btill  it  is  in  this  room — not  even  a  sigh  breaks  thf 
quiet  and  loneliness  of  the  place ;  yet  there  sits,  by  the  win- 
dow, a  young  girl,  who  sews  a  piece  of  new  linen  with  great 
assiduity,  and  is  apparently  quite  absorbed  in  her  work.  The 
dresB  of  the  young  worker  is  extremely  plain,  but  so  tasteful, 
clean,  and  neat,  that  an  odour  of  freshness  and  life  seems  tr 
envelop  her. 

"  Poor  Lenora  I  this,  then,  is  thy  fate  I  To  conceal  thy 
illustrious  rank  in  the  attics  of  a  labourer's  dwelling ;  to  seek 
a  refuge  from  mockery  and  contempt  far  from  thy  native 
land ;  to  labour  unceaflinglFt  Btrugglir«|^  wlfii  want  and 


itt  TALIt  OF  FLEIOSH  UFS. 

nty,  bowing  nnder  sorrow  and  shame,  and,  witli  a  bleeding 
heart,  scarcely  bearing  up  under  the  incurable  wounds  of 
humiliation  and  despair  I 

"  Certainly  thy  wretchedness  has  already  given  to  thy  coun- 
tenance the  sallow  tinge  of  want ;  adversity  and  trial  have 
gnawed  at  thy  heart,  and  robbed  thy  eyes  of  their  once  bril- 
liant fire  ;  and  thou  art  a  dying  flower,  pining  away  in  silent 
and  uncomplaining  suffering  I — Heaven  be  praised,  it  is  not  so  I 
The  hero  blood  which  flows  through  thy  veins  has  made  thee 
strong  against  fate  I  Thy  graceful  and  lovely  nature  is  more 
beautiful  than  ever !  If  a  residence  in  a  narrow  room  has  made 
the  dark-brown  hue  disappear  from  thy  face,  it  has  only  been 
to  give  it  a  tenderer,  a  mellower  tone.  As  thy  noble  brow  has 
grown  more  pale,  the  flush  on  thy  lovely  cheeks  has  become 
fresher.  Still  glances  thy  dark  eye  behind  thy  long  eye- 
lashes, full  of  fire  and  life  ;  still  does  that  bright  enchanting 
smile  play  round  thy  charming  lips.  It  may  be  that  thou 
still  bearest  in  thy  heart  a  rich  treasure  of  courage  and  hope  ; 
it  may  be  that  there  still  hovers  before  thy  eyes  a  loved  form. 
Is  it  out  of  the  well  of  memory,  then,  that  thou  drawest 
atrength  to  contend  victoriously  with  misfortune  ?" 

See,  some  dream  or  fancy  takes  possession  of  her  now !  she 
lets  her  hands  fall,  and  pauses  in  her  work.  With  her  head 
inclined,  she  gazes  intently  on  the  ground ;  her  soul  is  else- 
where, and  permits  itself  to  be  borne  along  unconsciously  and 
unresistingly  on  the  stream  of  self-oblivion. 

She  lays  the  linen  on  a  chair,  and  slowly  rises ;  contemplatei 
for  a  few  moments  her  modest  little  flowerets  on  the  window-sil!, 
plucks  a  daisy,  and  dreamily  tearing  its  leaves,  gazes  into  the 
distance,  where  a  noble  chestnut  exalts  its  leaiy  crown  above 
the  surroxmding  houses.  The  sight  of  its  well-known  foliage 
works  powerfully  upon  her  soul ;  a  strange  smile  hovers  round 
hn  lip«,  tean  gush  from  her  eyes,  and,  with  risible  excite 


«n  POOB  NOBUEKiJI.  S58 

menty  ibe  liihales,  with  long  inspirations,  the  fresh  air  of  the 
early  spring,  and  seems  to  drink  in  the  warm  genial  snnshine. 
The  expression  of  her  countenance  changes  ;  one  would  sup* 
pose  that  her  fancy  wanders  among  beloved  but  distant 
friends,  and  talks  with  them  of  happy  and  joyftil  things; 
unintelligible  sounds  escape  her  lips,  followed  by  a  sad  and 
painful  smile.  Perchance  she  murmurs  the  name  of  some 
absent  one.  She  now  looks  sympathizingly  at  the  sprightly 
goldfinch,  which  flutters  restlessly  from  side  to  side,  and  triei 
vainly  to  force  its  prison-grating,  with  its  little  beak.  She 
gazes  at  the  bird  with  dreamy  forgetfulness  a  while,  and  then 
■ays  with  a  gentle  voice — 

"  Wherefore  would  you  leave  us,  dear  one  ? — ^you,  the  dear 
companion  of  our  misfortunes  ?  Be  contented.  Father  is  well 
again,  and  now  we  shall  live  cheerfully  and  happily  all  together. 
Why  flutter  so  restlessly  in  your  wiry  prison  ?  But  oh,  it  is 
%  hard  thing  to  be  caught  and  confined  in  a  narrow  space, 
when  one  has  been  bom  in  the  free  fields,  or  in  the  wild  forest 
or  untamed  heath,  where  life  and  joy  and  freedom  reign,  and 
where  alone,  under  God's  blue  sky,  they  can  be  enjoyed ! 
Alas,  poor  bird  I  I  am  a  child  of  nature  like  you;  I  also 
have  been  torn  from  my  native  fields — I  also  long  for  the 
solitude  of  my  childish  years,  and  for  the  great  and  calm  old 
trees  which  overshadowed  my  cradle.  Does  there  mingle  it- 
self with  your  sadness,  too,  the  form  of  one  whom  you  loved  ? 
Do  you,  too,  lament  something  more  than  freedom  ?  Why 
do  I  auk  you  ?  Is  not  this  the  season  of  love  again  ?  Love 
\b  for  you,  as  for  me,  the  most  beautiful  tale  of  life.  I  bought 
you  in  better  times ;  you  have  been  for  long  my  sole  com- 
panion and  my  pastime.'' 

With  these  words  she  took  the  cage  in  her  hand,  and  oon- 
tiBued— ^  But  I  understand  your  little  sorrows  now.  I  wHl 
BO  longer  be  to  yon  what  inexorable  deetiny  ii  to  me.    Them, 


t5A  VALM  07  VLBMUH  UTB. 

fly — ^be  free,  and  may  God  protect  thee  I  Ck)  and  enjoy  what 
IB  most  of  all  essential  to  every  living  thing — freedom  and 
love  I  0  how  you  hop  for  joy,  how  gallantly  you  spread  your 
wings  I    Farewell,  farewell,  happy  little  one  I" 

Lenora  looked  for  some  time  after  the  bird,  as  it  flew  hea- 
venwards, dashing  through  air  and  light  more  swiftly  than  an 
arrow ;  then  returning  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction  to  her  chair, 
she  industriously  resumed  her  work.  About  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  after,  she  paused  to  listen  to  a  sound  oft  the  stairs — 

"  Ah,  there  comes  father  I "  she  said ;  and  rising,  she  went 
to  the  door. 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke  entered  the  little  room  with  a  roll  of 
paper  in  his  hand,  and  slowly  approaching  a  chair,  he  sat 
down,  exhausted  and  panting.  He  had  grown  very  thin  and 
wan,  his  eyes  were  hollow,  his  cheeks  pallid,  and  his  whole 
face  showed  marks  of  suffering.  One  could  easily  perceive 
that  he  had  been  the  victim  of  a  severe  illness,  and  that  mental 
energy,  as  well  as  bodily  strength,  had  been  sapped. 

His  dress  indicated  great  poverty,  though  kept  painfully 
clean,  and  evidently  with  great  labour;  it  was  everywhere 
threadbare,  here  and  there  patched,  and  all  too  wide  for  his 
shrunk  and  meagre  body.  Adversity  and  sickness  had  appa- 
rently quite  crushed  his  once  manly  soul ;  he  seemed  dispirited 
and  heart-broken. 

Lenora  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with  deep  concern,  and 
then  said — "  Alas  I  father,  do  you  feel  ill  again  ?" 

"  0  no,  Lenora ;  but  I  am  so  unfortunate  I " 

She  embraced  him  tenderly,  and  took  his  hand  in  an  affec- 
tionate and  consoling  way. 

"  Father,  father,  eight  days  ago  you  lay  in  bed  very  ill. 
We  prayed  God  to  restore  you  to  health,  as  the  greatest  boon 
He  could  confer  on  us.  God  heard  our  prayers ;  yon  are  well 
again ;  and  yet  yon  are  cast  down  by  the  first  little  reverM 


THS  POOB  HOBLEKAII,  855 

yon  meet  with.  Oh,  what  matters  it?  What  prevents  ni 
being  happy  ?  Come,  let  us,  as  we  have  done  hitherto,  raise 
ourselves  proudly  to  meet  whatever  additional  misfortune  may 
befal  us.  Let  us  he  strong,  and  boldly  look  our  poverty  in 
the  face.  Courage  is  riches.  Come,  father,  forget  your  sor- 
rows ;  look  at  me — am  I  melancholy  ?  Do  I  let  despairing 
thoughts  get  the  better  of  me  ?  Yes,  I  wept,  lamented,  and 
suffered,  when  my  father  was  ill ;  but  now  that  you  are  well 
— now,  come  what  will,  your  Lenora  will  continually  thank 
God  for  His  goodness." 

The  father  looked  sadly  into  the  eyes  of  his  high-spirited 
daughter,  and  sighed — 

"  Poor  Lenora  I  you  have  power  to  make  even  me  take 
courage  and  make  an  effort  to  console  myself;  may  Heaven 
reward  you  for  so  much  love  I  I  know  the  source  from  wnicn 
you  draw  this  strength ;  and  yet — ^you  angel  sent  by  God 
Himself  to  support  me — your  words  and  smiles  work  power- 
fully upon  me,  as  if  a  part  of  your  soul  passed  into  mine.  I 
returned  to  our  little  home  here  with  a  failing  heart,  a  troubled 
mind,  and  quite  powerless  with  despair,  and  your  look  alone 
has  been  sufficient  to  pour  consolation  into  my  breast." 

"  Come,  father,"  interrupted  the  maiden  ;  "  you  are  always 
lavishing  your  tenderness  on  me.  Let  me  know  how  it  went 
with  you,  and  I  will  afterwards  tell  you  something  which  will 
give  you  pleasure." 

"Ah,  my  child,  I  reported  myself  at  Herr  Eoncevaux'g 
Educational  Listitute,  to  recommence  my  English  lessons; 
but  I  found  that  an  Englishman  had  been  engaged  during 
my  illness,  and  thus  our  chief  means  of  livelihood  is  taken 
from  ns." 

"  And  the  German  hour,  with  Miss  Pauline?" 

"  Miss  Pauline  has  gone  to  Strasburg,  and  does  not  retnxu. 
Ab,  Lenora,  eTerything  lost  at  once.    Had  I  not  good  oauM 


8M  TALBB  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

to  be  dispirited  ?  Even  you  seem  overcome  by  this  unlucky 
news.     It  seems  to  me  that  you  look  pale?^' 

In  fact  Lenora  had  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  seemed  pain- 
fully affected  by  this  intelligence.  Her  father's  question 
brought  her  back  to  herself;  and  with  an  effort  to  appear 
cheerful,  she  replied — 

"  I  was  thinking,  father,  how  these  repulses  must  have 
pained  you,  and  I  felt  the  pain  over  again  for  you  ;  but,  not- 
withstanding, I  have  reason  to  be  happy.  Yes,  father,  for  I 
at  least  have  good  news." 

"  So  1— that  surprises  me." 

Lenora  pointed  with  her  finger  to  the  chair,  and  continued — 

**  Do  you  see  that  linen  there  ?  I  have  got  an  order  for 
twelve  fine  shirts,  and  when  they  are  finished,  the  order  is  to 
be  repeated.  I  am  to  be  well  paid ;  and  I  know  something 
better  yet,  though  it  is  only  a  hope." 

Lenora  had  uttered  these  words  so  quickly  and  cheerfully, 
that  her  father,  borne  along  by  her  vivacity,  was  betrayed 
into  a  smile  of  satisfaction. 

"  Well,"  he  asked,  "  what  is  this  other  thing  which  makes 
you  so  happy?" 

Reproaching  herself  for  having  lost  time,  she  sat  down  again 
to  her  needle,  and  resumed  her  sewing,  visibly  delighted  at 
having  succeeded  in  chasing  away  her  father's  melancholy, 
and,  half  jestingly,  she  replied — 

"  Ah,  you  cannot  guess  it :  have  you  any  notion,  father, 
who  has  given  me  this  work  to  do  ? — The  rich  lady  in  the 
large  house  at  the  comer.  She  sent  for  me  this  morning,  and 
I  went  to  her  during  your  absence.  You  ^re  astonished,  I  see, 
father,  are  you  not?" 

"  Yes.  You  mean  Madame  Boyan,  for  whom  you  received 
lome  beautiful  collarB  to  embroider  1  How  did  she  come  to 
know  you?" 


POOR  NOBLEMAN.  807 

"  I  don't  know ;  but  probably  tbe  woman  who  sent  me  that 
troublesome  work,  informed  the  lady  who  had  done  it.  She 
must  have  spoken,  too,  of  your  illness,  and  our  poverty ;  for 
the  lady  knew  more  than  you  could  have  supposed." 

"  Heavens  I  she  does  not  know  . . . ." 

"  No,  she  does  not  know  what  our  name  was  in  our  father- 
land." 

"  G^o  on,  then,  Lenora ;  you  excite  my  curiosity.  I  see  yon 
wish  to  tease  me." 

"  Well  then,  father,  since  I  see  that  you  are  all  right  again, 
I  will  be  more  brief.  Madame  de  Eoyan  received  me  very 
kindly,  and  after  praising  my  beautifal  embroidery,  she  inquired 
into  our  former  fortunes,  and  consoled  and  cheered  me.  Only 
hear  what  she  said  to  me,  after  having  ordered  her  maid  to 
give  me  this  linen  to  make  shirts  of :  *  Go,  my  child,  work  on 
courageously,  and  be  virtuous,  and  I  will  protect  you.  I  re- 
quire a  great  deal  of  work  done  for  myself,  and  can  give 
you  two  months'  occupation ;  but  this  is  not  all :  I  will  re- 
commend you  to  my  numerous  acquaintances,  and  take  care 
that  you  are  always  provided  with  sufficient  work,  to  enable 
you  to  find  a  comfortable  livelihood  for  yourself  and  your  deli- 
cate father.'  With  tears  in  my  eyes  I  took  her  hand  and 
kissed  it ;  for  her  beautiful  and  noble  benevolence,  which  did 
not  give  me  alms,  but  work,  touched  me  deeply.  When  she 
saw  in  my  eyes  the  gratitude  which  I  felt,  she  said  with  still 
greater  kindness,  while  she  patted  me  affectionately  on  the 
shoulder — *  Keep  up  your  spirits,  Lenora ;  a  time  will  come 
whet  you  will  have  to  take  in  pupils  to  help  you ;  and  so, 
advancing  from  less  to  greater,  be  a  mistress  yourself  some 
day.'  Yes,  dear  father,  she  said  bo.  I  have  her  words  by 
heart." 

And  so  saying,  ihe  sprang  up,  and  embraced  him  in  Uif 
]bigheft  ipinti. 


^08  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  L3F1B. 

"What  do  yon  say  to  this,  father?"  she  continued.  "Is 
it  not  good  news  ?  Who  knows — pupils,  apprentices,  a  shop, 
a  magasin^  a  servant-girl  I  You  keep  the  books,  and  select 
the  wares — I  stand  in  the  shop  and  sell,  or  give  directions  to 
my  workwomen.  Oh  I  it  is  charming  to  think  of — to  be  happy, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  be  conscious  that  we  owe  it  all  to  the 
work  of  our  own  hands ;  and  then,  father,  then  would  your 
wishes  be  quite  fulfilled,  and  you  would  spend  your  old  age 
in  comfort  and  peace." 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke  smiled  cheerfully,  and  one  could  see 
clearly  from  the  happy  expression  which  revealed  itself  in  his 
wan  and  wasted  features,  that  the  words  or  his  daughter  had 
allured  him  into  entire  self-forge  tfulness  for  a  moment.  He 
soon  perceived  it  himseK,  however,  and  shook  his  head  plea- 
santly, saying — 

"  Lenora,  Lenora,  sweet  Lenora  I  You  charm  me  away 
from  reality  so  easily ;  I  hang  on  your  lips  like  a  child,  and 
have  perfect  faith  in  all  your  hopeful  promises  of  future  hap- 
piness. However  it  may  turn  out  with  our  future,  we  have 
indeed  good  cause  to  thank  God  for  the  present  at  least.  But 
now  to  come  to  more  serious  matters:  the  shoemaker  has 
again  spoken  to  me  about  the  rent,  and  begged  me  to  pay  him. 
We  still  owe  him  twenty  francs— is  it  not  so?" 

"  Yes,  we  owe  twenty  francs  for  rent,  and  twelve  francs  to 
tradesmen — that  is  all.  So  soon  as  these  shirts  are  ready,  we 
shall  give  the  shoemaker  my  earnings,  and  he  wiU  be  quite 
satisfied.  They  will  give  us  a  little  longer  credit  in  the  shops ; 
and  I  have  got  two  and  a  half  francs  here  for  my  last  work. 
So  you  see,  father,  we  are  rich  yet.  Within  four  weeks,  all 
our  debts  will  be  paid.  You  are  well  again,  and  your  strength 
will  soon  return.  Summer  has  begun,  everything  smiles  on 
ns,  and  we  shall  be  so  very  happy  yet!" 

H«rr  Ton  Vlierbeke  seemed  quite  oonsded,  and  renovated 


THE  POOR  NOBLEUAN.  M9 

courage  beamed  in  his  dark  eyes,  and  his  spirits  were  consi- 
derably raised.  He  went  to  the  table,  and  said,  as  he  nn- 
roUed  the  paper — 

"  Lenora,  I  have  a  little  work  too.  Professor  Delsaux  hai 
given  me  some  music  to  copy  for  his  pupils :  it  will,  in  a  few 
days,  bring  me  in  four  francs.  Be  quiet  now  for  a  little,  my 
child ;  my  mind  is  distracted  at  present,  and  I  should  cer- 
tainly make  blunders,  and  spoil  the  paper." 

"  I  may  sing,  though,  may  I  not,  father?" 

"  0  yes,  that  gives  me  great  pleasure,  and  never  disturbs 
me." 

The  father  now  began  to  write,  while  Lenora,  with  a  clear 
but  low  voice,  sang  beautifully  a  great  many  of  her  songs,  and 
in  this  way  gave  free  expression  to  the  feelings  of  her  heart. 
Meanwhile  she  sewed  on  industriously,  looking  up  from  time 
to  time  at  her  father,  to  observe  whether  any  sad  thoughtg 
arose  in  his  mind,  which  required  to  be  dissipated. 

A  considerable  time  after  this,  Lenora  heard  the  clock  in 
the  parish  church  strike;  and  putting  aside  her  work,  she 
took  a  basket  from  behind  the  stove,  and  hanging  it  over  her 
arm,  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  when  her  father,  observing 
her  intention,  said  with  surprise — 

"Already,  Lenora?" 

"  It  is  Ifalf-past  eleven,  father." 

Without  making  any  further  remark,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke 
again  applied  himself  to  his  music,  and  proceeded  with  hig 
copying.  The  young  girl  ran  quickly  down  stairs,  and  soon 
returned  with  the  basket  fall  of  potatoes,  and  something  else 
wrapped  in  a  piece  of  paper,  which  however  she  concealed 
under  her  apron  as  she  re-entered  the  room.  Pouring  water 
into  a  pot,  she  began  to  peel  the  potatoes,  singing  the  while. 
She  did  not  take  long  to  finish  this  work ;  then  lighting  a 
&©,  ghe  washed  the  potatoes,  and  put  them  in  the  pot  to  be 


S66  TALES  OF  FLEMISH  UFB. 

boiled.  Behind  this  she  placed  another  pot,  considerably 
tmaller,  in  which  there  was  some  butter  and  a  good  deal  of 
vinegar. 

Up  to  this  moment,  the  father  had  not  once  looked  up  from 
his  work.  The  preparation  of  the  midday  meal  was  no  un- 
usual sight,  and  it  was  seldom  indeed  that  it  varied.  On 
this  occasion,  however,  the  potatoes  were  scarcely  ready,  when 
a  very  savoury  smell  diffiised  itself  through  the  room.  Herr 
von  Vlierbeke  looked  at  his  daughter  with  surprise,  and 
said — "  Meat  on  a  Wednesday  I  Lenora,  child,  we  must  be 
firugal ;  you  know  that  well.'* 

"  Ah,  father,"  replied  Lenora,  laughing,  "  never  mind,  the 
doctor  ordered  it." 

**  Yon  would  fain  deceive  me,  I  see." 

"No,  no;  the  doctor  said  you  must  have  meat  at  least 
three  times  a  week,  if  we  could  afford  to  purchase  it  at  alL 
It  will  do  you  good,  father,  and  restore  your  strength." 

"  But,  Lenora,  our  debts  ?" 

"  Well,  well,  father,  let  me  look  after  all  that.  Every  one 
will  be  satisfied,  I  can  assure  you.  Do  not  torment  your  mind 
about  it  any  longer.  I  will  answer  for  everything.  Be  so 
good  as  put  aside  your  papers  now,  as  I  wish  to  lay  the  cloth." 

The  father  shook  his  head,  and  did  what  Lenora  had  de- 
sired him.  She  then  spread  a  snow-white  linen  cloth  ovef 
the  table,  and  set  down  the  potatoes  and  a  couple  of  plates. 
Everything  was  poor  and  humble,  but  so  white  and  clean, 
that  the  table  a&  it  now  appeared,  would  have  pleased  the 
eye  of  the  wealthiest  and  most  fastidious. 

Father  and  daughter  sat  down  to  their  meal,  and  beat 
their  heads,  as  they  thanked  God  for  the  food  He  had  girsn 
them.  While  they  were  still  engaged  in  this  quiet  thanks- 
giving, voices  were  suddenly  heard  on  the  stairs.  Lenora 
alarmed,  and  trembled  Tioleiitly.  With  strained  attention 


*BB  POOB  NOBLEMAK. 

and  vifdble  agitation,  she  listened  to  sounds  which  were  heard 
indistinctly  proceeding  from  below.  The  father,  surprisea  to 
observe  the  unaccountable  excitement  depicted  in  his  daugh- 
ter's face,  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  as  if  be  would  say,  "  What 
ig  the  matter?  what  is  it?"  Lenora  gave  him  a  hasty  sign 
to  be  silent.  The  sounds  were  again  audible,  and  now  at 
last  Lenora  recognised  the  voice.  As  if  struck  by  a  thun- 
derbolt, she  sprang  up  with  a  cry  of  pain,  and  running  to  the 
door,  shut  it,  and  held  it  firmly  with  her  hands. 

"Lenora,  for  Heaven's  sake,  what  are  you  afraid  of?" 
cried  the  alarmed  and  anxious  father. 

"Gustavl  Gustavl"  she  exclaimed;  "he  ia  there — he 
comes  I  Oh,  away  with  everyth'  jg  from  the  table ;  he  of  all 
others  must  not  be  a  witness  of  our  poverty." 

The  countenance  of  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  grew  dark  when 
he  heard  this.  He  raised  his  head  proudly,  and  his  eye  was 
vigorous  and  brilliant  once  more.  Silently  approaching  his 
daughter,  he  removed  her  from  the  door.  Lenora  fled  to  the 
most  distant  comer  of  the  room,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands 
The  door  flew  open — a  youth  hastened  exulting  into  the  room, 
and  ran  with  open  arms  to  the  young  girl.  He  wildly  uttered 
her  name,  and,  in  his  blind  joy,  would  have  fallen  upon  her 
neck,  but  the  outstretched  arm  and  stem  look  of  the  father 
held  him  back.  He  remained  standing ;  and,  looking  round 
in  silence,  contemplated  with  a  shudder  the  meagre  dinner 
and  the  humble  clothing  of  the  old  man  and  his  daughter. 
What  he  had  seen  apparently  afiected  him  deeply,  for  he 
covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  and  pressing  them  violently, 
said — 

"  0  Lenora,  beloved  I  look  on  me,  that  I  may  know  whether 
your  heart  has  preserved  the  sweet  memory  of  our  love  I" 

The  maiden  cast  on  him  an  earnest  look — a  look  in  whioh 
hei  pure  loving  soul  was  all  revealed. 


S62  TAIJM  OF  FLEMISH  LIFE. 

"Oh,  what  happiness  I"  exclaimed  Gustav  with  ardont; 
**  still,  as  ever,  my  sweet,  dear  Lenora  I  God  be  praised  I  do 
power  on  earth  can  now  rob  me  of  my  bride  I  0  Lenora, 
come  into  my  arms  ;  do  not  refuse  the  bridal  kiss  I " 

He  opened  his  arms  as  he  said  this,  and  would  have  run 
forward  to  press  her  to  his  beating  heart.  Trembling  with 
anxiety  and  joy,  Lenora  stood  with  downcast  eyes,  though 
longing  to  receive  the  fond  embrace  which  was  to  be  the 
sign  of  their  everlasting  union ;  but  ere  the  youth  could  obey 
the  impulse  of  his  passion,  Herr  von  Vlierbeke  stood  beside 
him,  and  taking  his  hand  firmly  to  restrain  him,  he  said  with 
deep  emotion,  but  with  a  severe  tone — 

"  Herr  Denecker,  modern  te  your  joy.  We  too  rejoice  to 
Bee  you  again ;  but  it  is  not  permitted  either  to  you  or  to  lu 
to  forget  what  we  are.     Respect  our  poverty." 

"  How  1  what  do  you  say  ?  Who  are  you  ?  Are  you  not 
my  friend  and  my  father  ?  Lenora  is  my  bride.  Heavens  t 
what  means  that  accusing  look  ?  I  lose  my  senses — I  know 
not  what  I  do." 

Then  seizing  Lenora's  hand,  and  drawing  her  towards  her 
father,  he  said  hastily — 

"  Listen  I  My  uncle  died  in  Italy ;  hje  left  me  sole  heir. 
He  commanded  me  on  his  deathbed  to  marry  Lenora.  I  have 
moved  heaven  and  earth  to  find  you ;  have  mourned  and  suf- 
fered during  the  absence  of  my  beloved.  At  last  I  have 
found  you,  and  come  to  get  the  reward  of  my  suflfering— to 
lay  my  wealth,  my  heart,  my  life,  at  your  feet ;  and  to  im- 
plore you  to  grant  me  the  happiness  of  leading  Lenora  to  the 
altar.  Father,  0  my  father  I  do  not  refuse  me  this  highest 
favour  I  Come,  Grinselhof  awaits  your  coming,  I  hare 
bought  it  for  you — everything  is  there  again.  The  portraits 
of  your  ancestors  adorn  its  walls  once  more ;  and  all  that 
was  dear  to  yon  is  re-nurchased.     Come,  I  will  sanoimd 


fn  rooB  lOBLBMAa.  3^ 

four  age  with  honour — heap  happinon  upon  joor  aead — low% 
and  adore  your  Lenora  I '' 

The  expression  on  the  nobleman's  (aoe  wai  idll  the  aaaie, 
bat  his  eyes  were  moist. 

"  Oh  1"  exclaimed  Gustav  with  enthu«ia«m,  **  no  power  on 
earth  can  tear  me  from  my  Lenora  again.  No^  not  eren  her 
father :  GJod  has  giyen  her  to  me  I " 

He  knelt  at  Herr  yon  Vlierbeke^B  feet,  and  raising  hit 
hands  imploringly,  said — 

"  Pardon  me. — No,  it  is  impossible ;  you  will  not  inflict  on 
me  a  deathblow  I  Father,  father,  for  Qod*B  sake,  grant  me 
yonr  blessing  I    Your  coldness  kills  me." 

Herr  von  Vlierbeke  seemed  at  this  moment  to  have  forgot- 
ten the  young  man,  as  he  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  seemingly 
in  earnest  prayer.  His  voice  became  audible  as  he  prayed, 
and  tears  of  emotion  gashed  from  his  eyes,  as  he  exclaimed — 

"Margaretha!  Margarethal  rejoice  in  the  bosom  of  thy 
€k)d  1  My  vow  is  fulfilled — ^thy  child  will  yet  be  happy  on 
oarthi" 

Gustav  and  Lenora  were  now  looking  at  him,  trembling 
with  expectation.  He  raised  the  young  man,  and,  kissing 
him  affectionately,  said — 

"Gustav,  my  dear  son,  may  Heaven  bless  your  love  I 
Make  my  child  happy — she  is  your  bride  I" 

"  Gustav,  Gustav  is  mine  I "  exclaimed  Lenora,  and  has- 
iening  into  the  arms  of  her  beloved  and  her  father,  they  were 
gdl  united  for  a  moment  in  a  mutual  and  ardent  embrace. 

The  first  love-kiss — the  sacred  bridal  kiss — wan  exchanged 
an  the  father's  breast ;  while  the  old  man  moistened  the  headf 
al  his  happy  children  with  his  tears,  and  his  hands  rested 
Vfoa  them  in  blessing. 


Mi  TAUf  or  nsMif  H  lifs. 

And  now,  dear  reader,  I  mnst  confess  to  jon,  that  I  baT«, 
for  important  reaaons,  concealed  the  true  locality  and  nam« 
of  Herr  von  Vlierbeke's  house ;  consequently  none  of  yon  can 
guess  where  Gustav  and  his  yonthftil  bride  now  dwell. 

So  far  as  I  myself  am  concerned,  I  may  inform  you  that  I 
have  often  had  the  pleasure  of  talking  with  Herr  Denecker 
and  his  amiable  wife,  and  have  frequently  walked  about  the 
grounds  of  Grinselhof  with  their  two  lovely  chi?dren  and  the 
aged  grandfather. 

The  charming  spectacle  of  domestic  happiness— of  pf^rfect 
peace  and  love — ^which  I  have  seen  there,  has  imprinted  Haelf 
deeply  on  my  memory.  The  old  grandfather  sitting  on  a 
bench  in  the  garden,  and  attempting  thus  early  to  explain  to 
bis  two  little  grandchildren  the  workings  of  some  of  the 
powers  of  nature  which  are  active  around  us:  the  little 
Adelina  clambering  upon  his  lap  to  stroke  his  cheeks,  and  the 
restless  Isidor  galloping  on  his  knees  with  wild  delight ;  while 
Herr  Denecker  and  his  wife  stand  beside  them,  and  press  each 
other's  hands  as  they  contemplate  with  feelings  of  intense  hap- 
piness and  gratitude  the  grandfather's  delight,  and  the  cheer- 
fhl  playfulness  of  their  children. 

I  do  not  mean  to  tell  you  who  it  was  that  related  this  tale 
to  me.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  I  knew  every  person  who 
plays  a  part  in  it;  and  that  I  have  sat  more  than  on  e  at 
table  with  Father  Jans  and  his  wife  and  their  maid  Kate, 
who  are  all  great  talkers,  and  are  always  very  wiUinf  te 
■peak  of  their  beneflMtonk 


